Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse
by GM Andy
Summary: The TimeWar left him shattered & alone. Experiments left her shattered & open. The tools for revenge also form a web that cannot be broken. You're not scared of the dark are you? Pre Rose. 9th Dr, River and Simon Tam, The HunterGratzner. X-over, Firefly
1. Part One Despair

**A/N: **_Random Plot-Bunny Strikes… An 'Adult' version of this story is going up at GM Andy's TARDIS ramblings over on Live Journal.  
_

Short Summary: The TimeWar left him shattered & alone. Experiments left her shattered with voices in her head. Survival threw them together. You aren't scared of the dark are you? 9th Doctor/River and Simon Tam/The Hunter-Gratzner. A Dr Who/Firefly/Riddick crossover.

Long Summary: The Doctor can go anywhere in space and time, right? Reeling from the effects of the TimeWar, the last surviving Timelord stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble.

So… 500 years in the future, Humanity is in space and expanding outward in fits and starts. Not everyone fleeing Earth-that-was went to the same system.

Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of the galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that this ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? There's a Bounty Hunter aboard, but not one after him…

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick crossover._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity", Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part One

Despair.

He was dying, burnt from the last-ditch, ultimate weapon of his people. His lives flashed before his eyes, even as the ripples of the fire shooting through time reached his brain and one after another the connections he'd lived with since he was eight years old snapped. It all happened so fast, like a string of Earth firecrackers, a thousand pops long. He expected to follow them. His twin hearts beat a frantic tempo as he realized that the moment had passed and he was still alive, although barely.

By rights, he should have fallen into the same timeless void of nothingness that the rest of them had been consumed by. Only the fire of fury blazing through time and space, seeking out and burning everything marked or touched by his people, friend and enemy alike, and leaving behind _nothing_ -- had missed him. He screamed, trying desperately to follow his fellows to whatever beyond they had found. Instead his exertion triggered the inevitable cycle of rebirth that he had experienced so many times before. '_Mercy, please. Just let me pass with the rest of them._' But his thoughts fell on the uncaring energies of the Universe that was clearly not finished with him yet.

Somehow, by some cruel twist of fate, he was aware of his agony, the coming change hovering for his last breath in this life to pass. The skin and muscle over much of his body was nothing more than a thin covering of jerky-like tissue and ash. He couldn't even swallow. But worse than his physical pain was the vast emptiness that had once been filled by a thousand other elite minds, Timelords, like himself, all gone in a brief hot flash that left him with echoes of their mental screams and_ nothingness_.

He wanted to die. Shouldn't he be allowed that peace? But the raw power of his connection to Time and the Vortex granted him god-like endurance. _He_ had stopped the foolishness of the Grand Artifacts abuse by the corrupt Celestial Intervention Agency. _He_ had held the Key to Time. _He_ had fought the Paradox Faction. _He_ alone had restored everything once. Could he do it again? Could he avoid the mistakes he'd made before? Or should he just go on as the Red Guardian, and do as he'd been told was his fate to do? A breath forced its painful way into and out of his scarred lungs. He couldn't just let go. He didn't want to just give up. But it hurt. Life hurt. And there wasn't even a higher being he could blame…

Golden light forced its way out from his torso, where it had already begun regenerating his vital organs; it moved over his skeletal form, slowly spreading across the burnt flesh as a noise and light surrounded him, solidifying into his faithful living ship. His life's companion. They were nearly one being, each being lost without the other. The TARDIS would protect him, and his mind, from the worse of the energy that he alone now held in his hands.

The regeneration threw him rigid, altering his bones, reshaping his face, and healing his muscles and skin. The burnt flesh pealed away, falling to the floor as his new form filled out re-growing what had been so horribly damaged. He collapsed, having no strength to support his larger form; not caring that he had bigger ears and hands then the last time. Not even the slight itch that started on his scalp and spread across his skin registered as his body tried, unsuccessfully, to replenish his radiation-lost hair. Instead, a short dusting of the stuff managed to take hold after he'd gained and shed several heads worth of the inch long fibers. Most the rest of his body remained hairless or sparse, but he didn't notice that either.

As his flesh changed from being on the brink of death to being healthy and new, the emotions from his loss overtook him. His people, his family, his friends brave or foolish enough to fight alongside him against an enemy that traveled through time and space with the same ease he'd always taken for granted… All gone. '_Ah, Susan, Leela, Dorothy… Why? Why couldn't they have survived?_' Huddled on the floor of his ship, naked as the day he was Loomed, the Doctor sobbed.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

A sharply dressed man with round dark glasses surveyed his surroundings as he pondered his next move. Simon Tam had enough cash on him that he could have chosen any ship in Eavesdown Docks. He walked through the multi-ethnic area, listening to an enormous variety of languages and dialects that flowed over and around him with their colorful chatter. '_River would love this place_,' he thought. Not only would the languages intrigue his brainy sister, but the tone and texture of the place itself, the exposition of new and old, the smells and sights, colors and flavors, would expound into a glorious harmony for her that no-one else would understand except for him. If not for their age differences, Simon and River could have been twins caught inside their own world. He hated the fact that she wasn't really here with him in the way she should have been. It was far too dangerous to do this any other way, however.

The vast majority of the ships at Eavesdown were local flyers, in-system transport. Some were big; some were small. But while there were plenty of backwater worlds to hide on that were inside the sphere of the Blue Sun System, something twitched in his gut at the thought of staying so close to home. This made him discard most of the ships without even looking at them. Only one local transport even registered with him and that by virtue of a single factor that had nothing to do with the ship itself. His final choices boiled down to two ships.

First there was the bucket-of-bolts with her very cute, almost beautiful hawker, the Firefly Class _Serenity_. Something about the honey-haired young woman made his heart flutter in his chest. He wanted on that ship, really he did. So much so that he almost gave up his cash on the spot even though she was an inter-system transport. So selfish a motivation it was to board the_ Serenity_ that he'd hate himself later, and it was recognizing this fact that caused him to pause, caught in the crowd near a food vendor, staring at the object of his desire as he debated with himself. Would this be right for River?

But then the man, Hobbson -- Robbson, or something similar, signed on while he was debating and that gave the good doctor a very bad feeling… His connection to his _Mei-Mei_ thrummed in his chest. It couldn't be right for her with the alarm that trickled between them even with her fast asleep. So he steered his cargo the direction of the single long-range transport at Eavesdown.

Behind him, Laurence Dobson cursed under his breath and tried to get his money back from little Kaylee. Only after he'd flashed his gun and Wash stepped in did he get his credits back. But he'd lost the elusive Dr. Tam and had no idea which direction the man had gone. Feeling like an ass, he slinked back to the ship and persuaded the little engineer that he was sorry and ended up paying an extra fifteen percent for the trouble he caused.

Simon hadn't waited. Instead he'd blended into the throng as best he could and headed directly to his second choice. The Tower for long-range docking was very empty. But at the apex of it docked the slightly battered, multi-compartment _Hunter-Gratzner_. He manipulated his cargo into the lift and stepped inside. Before he could close the gate a dark-skinned man dressed in floor-length robes and a turban ushered in three boys before stepping in himself, "Thank you for holding."

"No problem, Father," Simon replied out of habit. As the traveled upward he found himself asking, "Are you on Hajj?"

The Imam graced him with a smile, "Yes. Once in every lifetime should there be a Great Hajj. To know God better."

Simon nodded, "I take that you've seen the Core Worlds then and are now heading to New Mecca?"

"Yes."

"I might just be taking that Hajj with you then," Simon said softly. He could use a miracle or three right about now.

"God always has room for one more," the Imam replied, settling his hand on his youngest pilgrim's shoulder.

The lift reached the top of the tower, and the pilgrims assisted Simon as he moved his stuff. One of the boys scurried off and returned with a loader and his brothers helped Simon place the boxes and bags onto it, chattering in Arabic the entire time with light sing-song voices that made the doctor's dark mood much lighter.

He looked over what he could see of the huge _Hunter-Gratzner_ as he steered his belongings toward it, the boys playing around with each other and seeming to be all over the place at once. He glanced over at the Imam and noticed that the man had a serene smile on his face as he watched his charges play.

This was a bit more high-class than the other ship, sure. But he could get farther away from those seeking him. He glanced at the passengers, noting that there was a nice mix of classes and ages on this ship. Families both high-classed set to take an exotic vacation and low-classed following work, businessmen ranging from suited desk workers to shopkeepers to art dealers, prospectors, pilgrims -- and the fella with the badge already had his bounty. Simon thought that he'd blend right in.

He had to negotiate getting his cryo-cargo hooked into the ship's systems, and felt lucky that there were enough empty cryo-lockers that the captain, Tom Mitchell, was rather eager to accommodate him.

Simon had never been in cryo before, although he knew all the medical factors and jargon involved with it. He'd put others into cryo. It was safe enough. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as Greg Merritt, a cryo systems technician, moved over from the 'No Early Release' lockdown cryo-locker that he'd installed for the redheaded badge. "It's top of the line technology. Do you need converters?" He offered as Merritt studied the self-contained system.

"The ones that came with the unit would form the most secure seal," the fact that the older, used converters the ship had might malfunction was left unsaid. Simon turned to his unloaded luggage before Douglas Owens, Communications Officer, could wheel it away. He retrieved the converters and handed them over. Shortly thereafter Owens returned and handed him a cargo code for his luggage. Simon glanced at the mix of Arabic, Chinese, and Anglo symbols, committing them to memory before slipping the card into a vest pocket. The Arabic was a rare sight here, on Persephone. He guessed that it was far more common where he was going.

A blonde woman approach him, "That'll be 10,000 creds, Mr. Tam."

He glanced over at her, noticing her jacket claimed that her name was Carolyn Fry. "Yes. Thousand-note bills okay?" Her hand extended flat towards him. It must have been okay then. He paid her with ten oversized Alliance notes. She flashed him a smile that rivaled the honey-haired woman back at _Serenity _before moving away to pay the docking fees.

Watching her, Simon wondered if he'd made the right choice.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he managed to gather himself together and force his shivering, naked form through the halls of his ship. The mental hum of her quiet support steadied him, easing away the bleak pain of his interior hollowness. Try as she might, the TARDIS couldn't fill that blank spot in his mind. Her knowledge, her constant readings, the multi-threaded ebb and flow of her internal systems were like a drop landing on an ocean basin gone dry. But she was trying, so he figured he should try too.

He wanted something to mark him as different, now. He was less prone to the outlandish fashions of his other lives. Just something comfortable. Timeworn like his soul. Faded jeans, an assortment of thin sweaters and tees in darkish colors, a loose blazer-cut leather jacket… All far too plain for any of his other lives. He didn't care. The style suited him, and he didn't need a mirror to dress for there were no ties to mess with, nothing to straighten, just simple comfort. The fact that he could avoid looking at his face was a bonus. He didn't want to see the haunted look that he knew lurked deep inside his eyes.

He looked around and located several other pairs of jeans in different finishes that were the same simple style. He'd take them too, and perhaps something would move him to change his pants once in a while. The doctor finished up his trip to the wardrobe room with a few pairs of comfortable shoes, half a dozen soft socks and y-fronts. His arms full, he set off to claim a room for himself, one different than the other eight he already possessed.

The TARDIS actually accommodated him by moving the perfect room to a point near the main control bay. It was clean-lined, uncluttered, with dark warm colors and heated enough to remind him that he could want to sleep. The bed was heaped with pillows and duvets, looking altogether fluffy, like he could sink into it and never even desire coming out. '_Tempting, but no_,' he told the ship. '_Maybe later, though._' She thrummed in agreement with him as he turned his attention to unloading his arms.

The Doctor was methodical about putting his things away. He carefully shook each item out and refolded it, perfectly lining everything up just so. He color coded each item into its perfect spot, using the rather nifty ebony cubbies that took up one wall and functioned as both a closet and a dresser. The socks and y-fronts went into spaces with drawers inserted into them. The coat had a perfect hook, near enough to the door that he could snatch it on the way out. The pairs of shoes each had a cubby with a raised area so that they wouldn't slip out. Then the jeans, sweaters and tees all had their own level. But getting it right took time.

So he took it, even as the sounds of his ship alerted him that they had landed. Blast it. He wasn't ready for this. He wanted, say, a hundred-year break. Just as he finished placing the last sweater away the claxon started to go off. "Well, whatever did you decide to land here for?" he argued with the ship as she begin to scream at him. "Fine!" He stomped out into the main control area and realized that the location the TARDIS materialized at was in the process of speeding down to a yellowish planetary surface at an unforgiving rate. '_Oh – hellfire and damnation_…' He grabbed for whatever handhold he could find and wondered if fate was having a good belly laugh at his expense.


	2. Part Two Chaos

**A/N: **_I want to thank my first two reviewers for this story, Arcander and Nighthowler, for proving me wrong in thinking that no one else would be interested in this wacky tale. Oddly, I've always felt that the Firefly 'Verse and the Riddick 'Verse had much in common. And both of them suit the darkness of the 9__th__ Doctor… But I blame the Christmas Chocolate and too little sleep for this rather persistent mutant plot-bunny… _

Summary: The Doctor can go anywhere in space and time, right? Reeling from the effects of the TimeWar, the last surviving Timelord stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble.

500 years in the future, Humanity is in space and expanding outward in fits and starts. Not everyone fleeing Earth-that-was went to the same system.

Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of the galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that this ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? There's a Bounty Hunter aboard, but not one after him…

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part two

Chaos.

He drifted through layers of murky warmth. So peaceful. Sometimes when he was home and surrounded by the stresses of his family, many he didn't even know anymore, he craved this. Like a drug, it was. This deep sleep and euphoria of being on death's door, hovering. Not that his job let him go home often. The thoughts were only able to flow because something was forcing him out of the deep sleep. He struggled to recapture that peace, to clutch that warmth, even as his heart kicked into full pulse and his eyes flew open.

His brain seemed to lag behind, noting only the pretty colors on the plexi-screen before him and the red handle clutched in his left hand. Then he became aware of the flashes of light beyond, white, red, black, white, red, black – it made his eyes sting. He blinked. A shape arced through his line-of-sight from left to right, a flesh and navy toned blur. There was something he should be doing.

Oh.

Red handle.

Hadn't it been drilled into him at some point that if he had his hand on a_ red_ handle that he should pull it? He thought so, now. Yes. He should be pulling the red handle in his left hand. Okay. He looked again to make sure. Yes. There it was. His hand _was_ on a red handle.

He pulled.

Suddenly he was thrust into chaos as the pressure change and sudden gravity jointly worked against his remaining upright. Something soft and warm cushioned his fall. His ears heard an "Ouff" noise but he was unsure if he made it or if there was someone else in the room with him. The flash off his wrist caught his eyes and he was riveted to the information there. This was his wrist chronograph. It showed Universal Standard time, the Universal Date, and had quick sensor enabled local time and date. But what froze him was that the numbers did not match up. "Why did I fall on you?" Not 'where are we' or 'who have I fallen on' but 'why did I fall' because he knew he was in deep space, and quite frankly the date he knew gravity was to kick in didn't match up with the chrono on his wrist.

"He's dead. Cap'n's dead," came from below him with a feeble push. "Christ, I was looking right at him when --"

But he cut the voice off, to alarmed to listen to it, "I mean, chrono shows we're 22 weeks out, so gravity wasn't supposed to kick in for another 19. So, why did I fall _at all_?"

The woman below him shoved at him a little harder, more to get his attention than to move him off of her shivering form, "You hear me? Captain Mitchell 's dead. Owens too."

Something was terribly wrong with that last statement. He froze. "Oh, no. Not Owens, not... Wai -- wait. _I'm Owens_." He looked at the woman that his brain finally identified as 'Carolyn Fry'. "Right?"

She let off a shaky laugh, "Meant Merritt, hard to keep you two separate." This time he joined her tottering titter as she continued, "Cryo-sleep. Swear to God, it sloughs brain cells."

The harsh noise of the alarms beat into his brain as Douglas Owens shifted his weight onto his knees and off of the docking pilot. With the captain and the tech dead that left just them to figure out what the hell was going on. "You're shivering. Warm-up suits?" he managed. She nodded as he gained his feet. He paused to help her stand and then half supported her as they stumbled together into the Nav Bay. Fry fumbled with the locker and pulled out the warm-up suits and after tossing one his direction put the other on.

Her voice seems stronger as he crosses the room. "1550 millibars, dropping 20 MB per minute, shit, we're hemorrhaging air. _Somethin'_ took a swipe at us," she states as she leans over her backup display.

Meanwhile, he's put on the suit and has managed to not take a tumble. Even with the hull not being totally air tight they could survive this, if they are still in space. "Just tell me we're still in the shipping lane. Just show me all those stars, all those bright, beautiful, deep-space..." But his turning on the monitor to the external view chokes his voice off.

There's a large yellowish ball of dirt hurling at them with break-neck speed. They're all gonna die.

"Jesus God..."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor, inside the TARDIS, braced himself for the crash that he knew was coming. How he knew, he didn't know. The thought of forcing a dematerialization didn't even cross his mind, although it might have been a good idea. Something pinged against the outer surface of the living ship. '_Micro-asteroid_,' his mind helpfully supplied. So she placed herself here to protect someone, he gathered. The ship hummed sweetly across his mind again, like a kiss from a lover rewarding a birthday card. Right. In one hundred and twenty seconds or so this ship was going to be metallic bits spread across an alien world and the TARDIS wanted to protect someone that was just to the right of it. More pings echoed through the control room, telling him that whoever it was that the TARDIS was shielding would have been turned into ground meat by the barrage long before the crash had a chance to kill them.

There was a pause then the shaking started. '_Entering Atmosphere, I gather_.' He figured he had about ninety-five seconds to wait. A dull thud hit the side of the TARDIS, sounding like a heavy body, impacting with it. The sound came from the wrong angle for it to be the protected though. There was a wave of pops, echoes and ripples from the ship shedding the deep space drives and other bays in someone's effort to ride the crash down. Then he was aware of a rolling motion, although his ship didn't actually roll or tumble. Then it leveled out. He glanced up at his outside viewscreen. The planet filled the port, rushing up much too fast still with no horizon. About seventy seconds left before he'd know if his ship had suddenly become suicidal.

The next few moments were jarring and bruising, and thankfully he'd just regenerated less than twenty-four hours ago so the damage healed with little effort. He picked himself up off the floor where he found himself sprawled and thanked fate that there were no companions to laugh at him for his lack of grace. He'd have to work on that 'lack of grace' issue. Taking a tumble like that had triggered a regeneration once, and ever since he'd been careful of his head around the console. He shook out his wrist and forced a pop to realign his hand and arm. The pain reminded him that he was alive but he still winced as the damage repaired itself.

The TARDIS opened the main door, revealing an expanse of smoldering blackened yellowish soil, grooved into a deep rut that he was in the middle of. Part of the ship, crumpled and heat-scarred blocked his view. The oxygen poor but dense air was oven hot against his new lungs even from this distance. "You expect me to go out there?" A drawer opened near the door that held a glint of silver. His sonic screwdriver. "Oh. _Bribing_ me now, are we?" The air of expectation built as he stood staring at the device. He'd thought it lost, really. "All right. I'll go look around and see if that individual you were shielding is still alive." He marched up to the drawer and snatched his sonic screwdriver just a bit miffed that the bribe worked. He then slipped the TARDIS key around his neck like a talisman against whatever bogeymen might await him on this alien world before stepping out into blisteringly hot, bright alien light.

Behind him the door closed and the TARDIS dematerialized only to reappear about 30 feet in front of him. "Stop jumping about on your own," he scolded, "Or I'll take out that new circuit of yours."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The docking pilot had stumbled away in panic, leaving him to wonder what he should be doing. He had no idea… wait; there was the matter of a distress call out. He toggled on the communications array; "This is the _Hunter-Gratzner_. We are off course and out of our assigned shipping lane. Currently angling for an emergency landing at an unregistered planetary body with the following stellar co-ordinates: X-38-stroke-5, Y-95-stroke-8, Z-21-" he was cut off when his signal went dead. "They trained you for this, right? -- Fry?" Panic flooded his senses, "FRY?" He decided to do something about the blaring alarm and riped the guts out of the console to stop the annoying noise.

One silence relieved him and the other upset him. He forced his voice steady and himself into business mode in order to just survive this. "Looks like the crisis program selected Number Two of this system because it shows at least _some_ oxygen and more than 1,500-millibars of pressure at surface-level. Okay, so maybe the ship did something right for a change..." The hull pass doors closing taps at his attention. Then there is a series of shuttering jolts. "Fry? Was that a Purge?"

Over his headset he hears her finally reply, "Had to drop the deep-space drives and streamline our hull. But I still need to get the nose down. I got no horizon."

He took a deep breath, "Cargo?"

"Might go too. If I can't get a level in the next couple of seconds. Just do your job Owens, and I'll do mine."

"Planet has no major water bodies. Maximum terrain, 220 meters over mean surface. Reading largely cinder and gypsum with some evaporite deposits..." He rattled off over the comms. Another series of jolts announced the fall off of the cargo compartments. "Tell me you got Horizon now, Fry."

His answer is the door behind him sliding closed.

"Fry? What're you doing?" He unbuckles and dashes to the door, aiming to manually force it open if necessary. The headset is still feeding him static. "Fry?"

"Can't get my nose down...too much load back there..." The docking pilot sounds frantic.

Owens starts struggling with the door controls, punching in his override command, "You mean that 'load' of _passengers_?" He had to keep her talking so he would have time to muscle the door open and jam it.

"So what, we should both go down too? Out of sheer fucking nobility?" she asks him.

He almost has the door open now, "Look, Company says we're responsible for every one of those people, Fry --"

"You know somethin' I don't? Wanna come up here and take the chair, Owens?" Fry is screaming at him now, her lower-class accent forcing its way through all her cultured training.

He winced at the reminder of her background and how much she has struggled to reach this point of her career. He knows though that she's a damn good pilot and deserves to have her own ship. She could have taken a smaller freighter as captain almost a year back and didn't. He took a deep breath, "When Mitchell went down, you stepped up -- whether you like it or not. Now they train you for this, so -- "

"An' there wasn't a simulated 'roach alive within 50 clicks of the simulated crash site!" she thundered. "_That's_ how they train you! A fuckin' simulator!"

He's suddenly aware that he's not braced the door yet and was so caught up in the debate with the docking pilot that he's not got anything in hand to use. "Don't touch that switch!" he ordered with all the authority he can muster as he franticly casted about for something that will jam the door open. He spied a thick wrench and wedged it into the door. A jarring jolt sent him sprawling back into his seat.

"I'm not dying for them," comes over the headset followed by an angered "Owens!"

He buckled himself back into place, "70 seconds! You still got 70 seconds to level this beast out!" He can feel the ship level, shuddering and pitching in protest. A wave shivers past him, "What the shit was that?" He knows they are falling fast, too fast still. His display reads 120 meters and descending. Seemingly less than a second later an new alarm kicks in, screaming a warning that they have less than 60 meters to contact. He riped that apart too. Glancing back up at the screen showed that there were 50 meters left. He's numb in shock.

40 meters...30...20...10...

Owens grips his chair and tries to prepare for the impact. It hits with a suddenness that he couldn't have prepared for. There's a metallic tearing sound and he found himself flying through the air. He realized that his seat had come loose.

Then he slammed into the ceiling.


	3. Part Three Alien

**A/N: **_It's still a runaway mutant plot-bunny… And I want to thank alphaskiier and mirth513 for the reviews. Wow, there are other nuts in this 'Verse that are actually interested in this drivel… _**:-D**

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble.

500 years in the future, Humanity is in space and expanding outward in fits and starts. Not everyone fleeing Earth-that-Was went to the same system. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of the galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that there is a ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? There's a Bounty Hunter aboard, but not one after him…

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Three

Alien.

The red flashing lights illuminated sleepers inside their cryo-lockers. Only one of the individuals was awake and aware enough to notice the loud grating hullabaloo that suddenly cut through the blaring alarms. This man, muscled and tense, was held in chains, blindfolded, and gagged. But he raised his head at the new noise knowing that nothing in this 'Verse he had ever encountered made a cacophony like that. Deciding not to wait any longer he jerked his body in such a way as to pop his restraints loose from what would be his coffin and rammed his weight into the door. Once, twice -- and it gave with a crack and pop of breaking plexi-glass. The shaking of the outer ship made him stumble blindly and he hit, full on, something strange.

He paused, placing his shackled hands against the new surface. '_Wood. Painted. About 1.38 meters or so square,_' he thought as he followed it around by touch. The odd hot freeze of deep space still clung to the surface, making his senses tingle. He could smell that this didn't belong here, too. The odors drifting off it were that of charred soil and alien minty plant life with a hint of mercury overlaid by a faint tint of spiced honey and musk. And he could feel the thrum of power under his fingers that was not human in nature. The entire experience made his perceptions shift in such a way that he wasn't sure of where he was standing for a moment.

Then the ship his feet were rooted to by the artificial gravity rolled, bucking into a spin that forced him to tumble along with it. He had nothing to cling to until he was against the ceiling. His arms and legs instinctively gripped a supporting pipe as the spin leveled out. He crept closer to the front of the cryo-bay, away from the engines. With the blaring alarms going off and the shaking that indicated things being shed from the hull, he was sure that the ship was going down. He'd crashed enough of them to tell. The safest location for him would be as close to the crew cabin as he could get. Whatever the mystery object was, he didn't have the _time _to waste trying to figure it out when his life was at stake.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Less than a minute later another sleeper, one with tightly curled red hair and a badge pinned to his navy-clad chest was shaken awake. Blinking the sleep away with military precision, he forced his mind to function. It's a skill he has acquired from the battlefield from when not being speedy to awake meant being very dead. For a moment the flashing lights make him think of a bunker raid. But the situation was wrong. The man made a confused face, as his mind fit the pieces together. _Riddick. Ship. Alarms._ His breathing fogged up the plexi-glass in front of his face. Johns wiped his hand across the view port to look at the locker that is supposed to be his primary business.

It takes him fifteen to twenty seconds to register what it is that his eyes are seeing, due to the effects of the cryo-drugs in his system. The locker he was concerned about has been busted open from the inside. There's no Riddick there. Meaning that the killer has gotten loose while the rest of them are cooped up inside their cryo-boxes. Panic welled up and he clawed at the webbing frantically for another fifteen seconds or so before finding the red handle that will release him from his locker.

William Johns does not feel the jolt that indicated first contact, as he is at that same moment expelled out of his cryo-locker into a blaring hell of claxons and flashing lights. He stumbles forward, and the next shudder sends him sprawling. By luck he grips a handhold. The next thing he knows is that Riddick's empty locker and the rest of those that are full behind it are swept away, flying off into the alien landscape along with the wall they were connected to. As this registers, he noticed, with horror that the back half of the cabin tears off from the main part he's clinging to. The far corner detaches from the rest of it taking seven cryo-lockers and a roughly three-meter tall blueish crate with it. The lockers string themselves out like pearls across the alien yellow sand. Only one of those is saved, and that barely, when it connects with a support post and deflects back into the ship, sideways. Fire and plasma and burning dust envelop the scene as it becomes more distant. The remaining locker skids to a halt just shy of his toes as the ship stops moving. He's too numb to think about how lucky that all is.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor slowly opened his eyes, focused on the sensation of death that seemed to rise from the burned and smoldering scar in the landscape that stretched off to the horizon in front of him. His blue ship sat just out of sight, about 30 feet into the alien landscape. He was aware if it but was more focused on the fading impressions left from the mass death that had occurred with the crash. Most of these impressions were so faint that there was no hope to revive any of the lives that they belonged to. But one, just off to his left and slightly behind him was sharp. New. Not quite passed. He spun on his heel, stopping once his direction was lined up with it. He saw first the white box, winking at him with unconcerned steady power. Then he saw the cryo-locker that was unconnected to anything, tilted at an angle that nearly placed the person inside in a reclining position. It was this box that the TARDIS had insisted on protecting. And inside it was a man who was, at this moment, struggling for life.

It appeared that he was having an allergic reaction to the Cryo-drugs. It was much the same reaction the Doctor had warned Susan about. The man was waking, but his mind couldn't remember how to make his lungs work. Moments later he had the fellow in his arms, draped over as he held him sideways. He gathered up his instinctive understanding of the breathing process in humans and thought, '_I do hope this works._' The Doctor forced the knowledge into the man's mind overriding the mental fog and panic with an illuminated spike of understanding. As he gave the man a sharp rap between the shoulder blades with the heel of his palm, he further commanded mentally, '_Breathe_!'

The raven-haired man took a sharp gasping breath, choking on the heated dusty air. His hands came up over the Doctor's leather clad arm and clawed at the thin bow-tie that he had loosely holding his collar closed. "Shush," The Doctor turned the fellow, pinning his struggling arms. He found himself looking into an elven face topped with short wavy dark hair. But what momentarily startled the Timelord was the panicked deep blue eyes that caught and held his own. "Here," he removed the tie with the skill of a surgeon. "I know it's a battle, but just focus on breathing." The confused fellow allowed himself to be settled on what remained of the floor as he fought for each breath. But when the Doctor went to stand the man gripped him by one wrist with his elegant hands and dug his fingers in until it was almost painful. "There might be others. Survivors, like you, that I can save."

"River?" the man queried.

"Would that be who is in the white box?" The Doctor pointed at the object in question with his free arm. An object that was wedged into the corner of the crumpled hull under the medlocker. The man looked at him, his eyes still panicked but confirming. "It's alright. The box is still running on internal power. If you let go, I'll check her vitals."

Slowly Simon Tam became aware of the mental press that this strange man's mind was forming on his own psyche. Blue eyes, the same color as his own, but with such an incomprehensible depth that was both timeless and filled with mental pain, locked on his for a second time. The agony was almost too much for Simon to deal with and that alone forced him to look away. With a nod the medical doctor uncurled his fingers from the strange man's bony, hairless, wrist. The tendons were sharp and strong under a membrane that was smooth and un-weathered, almost like a baby's skin. The sensation of too cool flesh and rapid flutter throbbing of the man's pulse struck Simon as being not _right_ somehow. But he pushed that aside as he watched with great care, the stranger rubbing the reddened mark from his desperate grip while the tall, imposing, powerful man crossed over to the box that contained Simon's precious _Mei-Mei_.

The stranger seemed aware of the undercurrent his standing had created and went into a kneeling position almost reflectively in an attempt to make himself smaller. "She is stable. At the moment. Your -- " he cocked his closely cropped head but didn't look away from the readouts, " -- sister?"

"Yes," Simon found himself answering before he could stop and think. "How?"

The dark-clad man twisted to look at Simon, "The mental force of your worry. And hers. Are you twins?" he asked, for the Doctor had never encountered such a strong mental link between two humans who were not born of the exact same gametes before. It was another puzzle how one could be female and the other male, but with genetic manipulation even that was possible.

The slight fellow swallowed, reminding the Doctor of his granddaughter, Susan, for a flashing moment. "My teenaged sister? No. I – I don't think so."

An ache settled in the Doctor's chest that had nothing to do with his hearts and he forced himself to ignore it with a flippant wave, "Well, -- no matter." He scratched his chin. "Important thing is, she's stable and looks like there's enough power here for a few more hours at least. I'm going to see if there are other survivors."

Simon was confused by the other man's hasty retreat out of the minimal shade and into the smoldering ruins that sat around them. He had almost seemed wounded, but nothing Simon had said had been harsh. The sounds of the other man's footsteps receded. After a while, Simon thought that he should look after his sister's readings himself. But the distance could have been a million miles because of how he felt right now. He set his face and made the decision to force his body over the distance anyhow. He needed to know his sister was really all right.

Swallowing, the ex-trauma surgeon forced his sluggish limbs into moving him over to the white box. The effort winded him. He placed a finely-boned, shaking hand on the side of it, '_Oh_, Mei-Mei… _I think I got on the wrong ship_.' His forehead found a cooler home on the side of the container that his sister was sleeping inside, '_I'm so sorry_.' But his connection to his sister thrummed in contentment and safety, in spite the situation. He lost himself in the feel of it, nearly falling asleep. But then there was a clatter in the distance that started him awake and he sighed. The feeling remained however. He grunted to himself, "You are strange, you know that, _Mei-Mei_? Just you wait until you see where we are, then tell me we're safe, because right now it doesn't seem that way to me," he mumbled.

"Gone around the bend already, have we?" came the stranger's voice as he returned laden down with a man in his arms that was easily half again his weight. The injured man's synthetic-blend white shirt was partly melted into his burnt skin, and one hand was formed into a claw of melted tissue around his red release handle. His hair had been burnt off to the quick, forming withered ends near his reddened scalp. Splits formed a patchwork through the burns on his face that puckered and blackened his skin. He was moaning softly in pain.

Simon jumped to his feet, heat and breathing difficulties forgotten in the emergency of having a patient to tend to. "Set him down in the shade." He turned to the medlocker and took stock of the emergency supplies, pulling out what he knew would help in this situation. "There's no derma-heal. No burn salve. But there is Anetaphine, antiseptic cream and bandages." Meanwhile the Doctor had settled the man down and was doing his best to keep him alive on sheer will alone. "I've got more in my cargo, but there should _always_ be derma-heal in an emergency medical locker. -- I've got some in my bag," Simon added. The shorter, slightly built man crossed back over to his cryo-locker and pulled out his black healer's bag.

Black leather swished as the Doctor simply reached upward for the packet where he was kneeling at the survivor's head. "Hand it over. The Anethphine will at least keep him from dying due to pain."

"Here," joining his helper on the metallic floor, Simon tore the container open and popped the cap off the needle before transferring it to the waiting larger hand. As the strange man administered the shot with professional efficiency, Tam turned his attention to the derma-heal spray. "I don't have enough to treat everything. Maybe just the worse of it?" His companion didn't answer, but proceeded to work on carefully peeling away the melted areas of shirt and skin while the injured man was too doped up to feel it. Simon knew that in a civilized setting the injuries would be easily dealt with. But here? It was far more likely that they were wasting their time and energy. "Were there any others?"

"No."

"Out of 46 people, it's just us?" Simon was trying to not panic.

The Doctor suppressed the desire to roll his eyes and sigh. '_Oh, of all the self-pitying_ -- ' Instead he snapped, "I didn't say that. Just out there, in the field of debris, I counted 29 lockers, and his was the only one with someone still breathing in it. This obviously isn't all of the ship." The Doctor looked at the young man who was pragmatically working on the worse of the burns like he'd been doing it all his life. He seemed to take the words as a comfort even with the scathing tone they were delivered in. "Perhaps once the suns are lower in the sky and your sister is awake we'll set off to find the rest of the crash." The raven-haired head bobbed in a nod. He was currently too busy with his trying to save a life to worry about the 'lower in the sky' and 'suns' references.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Imam Abu al-Walid had never found himself in such a situation before. Well, it was a Hajj, wasn't it? Just looks like God wanted him to have a bit more of it, is all. The alien world they were on had a thick cloying atmosphere, with too little to breathe. The yellow dust didn't help matters either. Around him the other survivors were coughing as much as they were calling to each other. He gathered up his pilgrims and sent a prayer of thanks that all of them are alive and uninjured. The other family on Hajj with them had not been so lucky as they seemed to be missing entirely. Little Ali chattered at him that his friend Jack appeared to be missing too. He hoped not, as the young boy was Ali's age and could relate to him in ways his older brothers couldn't. No, what worried Imam is that the doctor, Simon Tam, seems to be gone and they could have used his skills.

The thoughts about the missing doctor are brought into sharp relief as Marshal Johns stumbles into view with blood tricking from his ears. Imam wonders how many others are suffering injuries as he sends his boys out to help the survivors. The asthmatic businessman, Paris, stumbles out of his locker and slips to the floor as the two prospectors busy themselves by cutting open a locker that is detached and on its side. Abu stops Johns and hands him a scarf; "You appear to be bleeding."

The man nodded, accepted the cloth, and said, "It's the least of my worries," before dabbing at the dribbling trail from his right ear. "I got a missing bounty." His hand then brushed the top of his holster and he starts with renewed alarm. "Excuse me, Father," he mumbled before beginning an intense search.

Abu lets the man go, turning his attention to looking for others in need of assistance. Behind him the cryo-locker that was being cut open falls into two pieces revealing that Jack had been found. The spunky child's voice cut through the gloom and heat with, "Somethin' went real wrong, huh?"

The female prospector let off a laughing snort, "You seem okay, Jack." Imam turns away after calling to Ali that his friend has been found.

"Up you go," added Zeke as he lifted the boy to his feet. It's an excuse to look the child over with out offending him. "Right as rain, you are." Ali pattered past the adults and greeted Jack with an enthusiastic chatter of Arabic and English and a hearty hand clasping.

The joyful reunion is cut short by a choking sound coming from the forward section of the hull. It quickly resolved itself into sounds of a hand to hand battle. Zeke pushed past Imam and the holy man caught the two boys following by their collars. "No. I'll not have either of you shot because you are in the way," he scolded. The fight is a cacophony of grunts, whooshing thuds, metallic groaning, and flesh being battered. Abu doesn't think the boys need to see it.

With a sudden clatter of metal on metal, dampened only slightly by a large body hitting the floor, the fight is over. Johns strangled voice comes back through the heat, "One of these days – Someone is going to get hurt. And it won't be me."

Zeke's voice followed, "A'right there, mate? Need a hand with 'em?"

"We'd better. This animal isn't safe. Maybe the support there will hold him." Johns couldn't be more grateful for the assistance at this point by the tone of his voice. Abu releases the boys with a look that means 'behave!' and the two of them scatter into the darkness away from the problem.


	4. Part Four Lost

**A/N: **_Mutant Random Plot-Bunny Runaway…Hehe. Thanks to my reviewers, My Reflection, alphaskiier, Arcander, and Nighthowler,_ _and my Story Alert signers, Arcander, Kateri1, and Suuki-Aldrea. I know the flashbacks over the crash from several POV is confusing, but I assure you, the Hunter-Gratzner is not going to crash on top of the TARDIS. Rather the TARDIS is inside the H-G as it crashes. Hopefully though there's enough of the movie plot preserved here that it still makes sense. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Four

Lost

She couldn't believe it. Here she was, buried to the gills, but alive. Of course if she was the only one that survived then things could be quite dire. Carolyn Fry pushed that thought out of her mind and strained to hear anything else, anything at all that might indicate life. She wasn't sure but it sounded like rhythmic clanging on metal faintly hammering in the distance. Hopefully that was footsteps.

Internally, her senses were muted. The soil was heavy, gritty and rough. There was an ache that made her wonder if she'd be nothing more than one giant bruise under that massive amount of dirt. Thankfully only a little was next to her skin because of the warm-up suit. She thought that nothing was broken, but the press of soil made it hard to tell. It was dark, dusty and smolderingly hot. And hard to breathe, but that might have been the press of the weight upon her chest.

Then a beam of light cut through the dusty air, just a single swipe of illumination. Someone else has survived. She had to get their attention before they just discarded the area as being empty. Fry managed a swallow that moistened her mouth and got out a fairly strong, "Hey!"

"Hey, who?" came the masculine reply.

Thank God! There were others alive. And she had been found. "Hey, me!" she called. Surviving the crash only to die because she was buried up to her neck and couldn't get out would just be all too ironic. The light darted around again joined now by two others. "Over here." One beam found her, and the man holding the light crawled between the top of the dirt and the roof. Behind him are two other men.

"Looks like a crewmember," Johns called back to the others. "Amazing. I'm Johns."

"Carolyn Fry. I'd shake hands, but..."

The redhead managed a smile, "Zeke, Imam. Looks like our savior here." The other two men manage worn smiles too as they approach. The trio set to work digging her out. By hand. It's going to take them some time to actually get her free, but there's no help for it. '_At least there's four of us_,' she reminds herself. The situation could be worse, so much, much worse. And there was such a huge amount of details that she didn't want to dwell upon. The ship hadn't been designed for this, crash landing on soil, although it had been retrofitted for such an occasion, rather poorly at that.

Honestly, she had expected to die. She had thought that they'd all die. Not that she had wanted to, but crashing was something that cropped up on the news once every few years usually with high body counts and no survivors. It was then a minor miracle that there were three uninjured, or nearly uninjured, men digging her out at this moment. She started wiggling a hand, finally having enough of the alien dirt removed to begin helping herself free. Then there was the idea that she was in charge, being as she was the senior rank on board. '_Don't think about it, don't_.' But there was so much she didn't dare think about. She needed to know certain things to assess their chances of survival though. Fry almost didn't want to know, but was compelled to ask them as she was freed from her dirt packing, "Are there any others, Johns?"

"Better to show you, I think," answered the Imam.

Soon she is free and stumbling through the surreal crumpled metal that had been a ship she served on for the majority of her adult life. She was thankful for the firm hand on her arm as the redhead assists her in keeping her balance. Behind her the Imam and the prospector are following silently. Fry can't help but to be stunned by it all. The twisted wreckage, the tossed consoles, the flipped chairs and especially the blast of sunlight where a hull used to be blows her mind. By some miracle they have survived even as the ship was shattered. Then it hits her. This is the Nav-Bay. _Where is Owens_? She escapes from the grip on her arm and began rooting and tossing metal. _Where is he_?

This sudden frantic drive to locate something throws Johns. But Zeke doesn't question it, moving around to help the blonde woman move sheets of metal and bits of ship. Shifting through the wreckage. There's a strangled noise, like a harsh attempt to not sob as Fry goes still. She has uncovered what she was looking for. Zeke looks at Johns as Carolyn sinks to her knees besides a bloodless body. Douglas Owens, still strapped into the upended chair, so pale that there's no way he could be alive. She frowns and pushes the last piece of plating off the body with a fast swipe. There's a metal rod sticking out of Owens's chest, blood pooled around it.

She feels shock, and sorrow. She's served with this man for years. Not as long as she had been with Mitchell, but longer than Merritt. And she considered him a friend, nearly family, actually. Choked up and unable to voice the sob stuck in her throat Carolyn extended her hand to stroke his clammy face. Owens lets out a gasp and his eyes fly open, "Out, out, out, GET IT OUTTA ME!" Fry startled, recoiling hard away from him. _He's still alive_.

His yell seemed to be a beacon for the rest of the survivors. The docking pilot is only vaguely aware of them as their voices wash over her in a jumbled wave, "Pull it out of him..."

"No, it's too close to the heart..."

"You gotta do it, just do it fast..."

Fry gripped the rod, unsure of what she was about to do. _God, why can't there be a doctor here_?

Then Douglas spoke the words that she never wanted to hear again, "Don't touch it! Don't touch that switch!" She jerked her hand off the rod.

"You'll kill him, I'm tellin' you, shit, just leave it alone..."

"…delirious..."

"Doncha got some drugs for this poor man..."

But the only thing Carolyn Fry can hear is the screaming that Owens is doing, "Don't touch that switch!"

'_Oh, god… I've got to shut him up_!' she thought frantically. There's no way he's gonna make it anyhow, unless there's a skilled surgeon just about to materialize out of thin air. She thinks out loud, "Awright, awright, someone...there's Anestaphine in the med-lock, that end of the cabin...next to..." She looks back that direction and is cut short by the simple fact that all she can see is smoldering alien soil. Beside her Owens begins a scream that is inarticulate and rending. He must be in exquisite agony to make a sound like he's making. It's nearly inhuman. There's only one way to stop it. And she's going to have to do it. "Get away. Everybody. Go." She doesn't want to prolong this, and she doesn't want anyone else to see.

Zeke quickly exits, rounding up his mate. Others straggle out, including slowly, the Imam. Only Johns pauses to touch her back, like he's telling her he understands what she is about to do and that it's a mercy on her part to be strong enough to follow through with it. He has to catch Jack by the collar and drag the boy out.

There's only one person left behind to witness what she does, and he can't help it, chained as he is to the bulkhead support.

Carolyn begins to rock back and forth as she realizes what she's about to do. "Please forgive, Doug. I'm so sorry. I never meant -- " Her hand is on the rod now, and she can feel the slick from his blood coating it. He's not aware of anything but his own torment, and that almost makes this worse. "I'm sorry," she whispers as she shifts the rod with a sudden jerk. The silence hurts way more than it should.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Doctor Simon Tam has, over the last couple of hours, managed to stabilize the injured man suffering second and third degree burns over at least a third of his body. The entire time he had pushed aside the trouble and limitations that his human body should be dealing with, and it was only after that he wonders about the endurance and ease that he his finding himself dealing with the situation. His medical scanner indicated that the oxygen content of the atmosphere is nearly too low for human survival, like being at an extremely high altitude would be. And while he knows it is possible for humans to acclimate to such conditions, he also knows that he shouldn't be with as little time as he's had thus far.

Then there are the other two issues he doesn't want to think about but knows must be dealt with.

One is the other man, the strange and slightly inhuman gent who was ducking back out into the alien landscape over and over. He'd returned with slightly burnt bags that somehow managed to have things, like slightly melted bottles of water, hats, scarves, clothes for River, and medical supplies from a civilian emergency kit with a tube of burn salve, in them that were of use. While the items were obviously meant to distract from the strangeness of the fellow, and were quite necessary for survival, they couldn't keep Simon from discreetly turning his scan on the stranger's back as he stepped once again into the nearly noon double sunshine.

If Simon didn't know better, he'd swear that his scanner was acting up. He lightly tapped it to make sure and then stared at the unusual readings. Double heartbeat, low body temperature, unusual lung structure, digestive organs all wrong… If his scan was correct then the 'man' that has been helping him isn't and can't be human. With a frown, Simon put the scanner away. He was not sure what to think, aside from the fact that he owes the gent his life and maybe River's too. Human or not, the fellow must not be all bad.

The other is River. Simon knows that the power of the cryo-box that she is in will be giving out within the next few minutes. He can't be sure how his _Mei-Mei_ will react once the top has been popped. He can't remember how he recovered from his near fatal bout of memory loss and can't shake the worry that she'll have the exact same problem. Simon doesn't even know the other man's name to call him for help. But if the power is lost and she's still sealed inside the box, he knows he'll lose her. Given that fact, Simon steadied himself and flipped the switches.

The Doctor is suddenly there, helping Simon move the heavy lid off the top of the white box. The younger man hopes that it's a good sign.

River feels herself thrust into an oven of heat, dry and oppressive. She can't breathe. The moisture from the cryo-bath clings but is fading quickly from her skin. Not breathing is bad. Even the quick change of position doesn't help her lungs take a breath. The bright light burns her eyes, and she's trying still to force herself to take a breath only her lungs refuse to actually do what she's telling them to do.

Panicked now, but not restrained, she realized she could move. Her arms fling themselves out, not to force anyone away but in an attempt to get some air in her lungs. The flailing threw her body from the locker. She hit the floor, landing on metal so hot that her knees sizzle. With a scream of surprise she back pedals into the side of the box, attempting to find the cool she knew was there. But she's breathing now. And that is a relief of its own. She closed her eyes and just took one shuddering breath after another, quite happy to just be breathing.

She felt hands, one set warm, one set cool, both comforting in the mental presence that came with them. She could sense them both easily. The one to her front was her brother. She had believed that no-one would come for her even as she send coded letter after coded letter out to him. She had tried to make him _feel_ her distress, but had never been sure of the connection because of the drugs and mind games that she was subjected to. Now though, she could feel the bond between them, stronger than it had ever been before, thrumming with his concern, fear, and love.

And then there was the being behind her. Soothing, absorbing her chaotic mental feelings and sensations that flowed from without into her mind. He was filtering for her, doing what she couldn't do for herself. It was a blessed easing of her overtaxed mental resources. Although the sensations were tinged with an alien 'color' at least they were ordered and understandable. A sob escaped her lips. It's been so long since her mind has been her own, and suddenly she can see why, and what was done, and knows that nothing can 'fix' her. Her only hope is that this strange alien being behind her can teach her to cope with herself, because she's less human now than she's ever been.

Simon though thinks the tears are for something else. His hands move from her arms to her face, and she hears his voice, so sweet and rich, call through her haze, "River? River. It's okay. You're safe. I'm with you. You're safe, _Mei-Mei_." The outpouring of emotion from him is too much. Even as she wants to reassure him, she needs to shield herself from the intensity of it. She huddles back from Simon into the other, the cool one with the mind that is still and stable and quiet. Like a void. She has no idea that the chaos of her mind is a balm to his emptiness much as his blankness steadies her. The force of that alien mind flows around hers, forming a shield that even filters her connection to her brother. She is able to think with the situation like this.

She finds purchase with her hands in the shirt in front of her, "Simon?"

The filtered calm relief washes over her from her brother at the knowledge that she knows who he is. That allowed her own thudding heart to slow. She still has trouble breathing, but somehow it's easier than it should be, like the changes that have occurred to her are not just mental. She marvels in the ease of it, the acceptance of her new self by this alien presence behind her. It's almost normal feeling. Almost like she's still a girl. With just a bit extra. She lets her mind blossom in the new space that he's made for her inside her own mind and can sense threads of _something_ wondrous resolve from annoying static to a seventh or eighth, or a ninth even, sense. Maybe she's not so crazy? Whatever the filament like layers are, _he_ knows them. _He_ sees them. They are more complex and more difficult to understand than anything she's ever encountered before is, but she wants and needs the challenge. But the glee is short lived as one thread sticks out in her mind's eye and she knows, horribly, surely, that there's nothing to be done to stop it. The agony of the knowledge sends her into a fit.

Simon is startled by River's screaming, clawing, fighting with a panic that is not her own. He's shocked by it, unsure of what to do. He looked at the other man, lost in his lack of understanding and only sees more of the same deep inside those alien blue eyes the same color as his own. Those eyes are like a mirror of River's display, turbulent even though the man doesn't act on it. Simon turns his attention back to his sister. Maybe he can talk her down. Calmly projecting his concern, he chatters in Chinese baby-talk at his_ Mei-Mei_ knowing that she's not listening but helpless to do otherwise unless necessary.

The Doctor can guess what the problem is, what River is likely seeing. His solution is to close himself off. But that makes her worse, not better. With a start he realized that something external was what she sensed and not his own mental agony. But he can't help her now; as River's mind closed off with a shield made of raw emotional panic and fear that is strong like steel plating. Given time he can peel it away and connect with her again, but he's not allowed that time. He can feel the artificial calm of the drugs that her brother delivers into her blood. The expression on his face must be ugly.

After what seems like endless hours, but is likely only a couple of minutes, Simon resorts to using drugs to calm her, to keep River from clawing them to pieces. She goes silent and lax from the shot; her hands maintaining a quite strong grip on the offending hand with the needle that she was trying to stop. Her mumbling about the 'stranger in the sands' makes no sense to him. She's rocking now, with her eyes closed, as she tried to fight off the chemical command to relax and sleep. Simon is too focused on her to notice the glare from the man behind her. Too wrapped up in his own dislike of the situation to see that there is a reason for his sister's seemingly incoherent mumbling. He hates this. It is not his sister, this blind panic that drives this strange girl in his sister's body.

Slowly the rocking stops as River loses her battle with the drug in her system. Her head lolls back on the chest behind her. The stillness of her form and the contrast of the forest green of the sweater with her dark drying hair drew Simon's eyes upward. River is still. Quiet. Trusting of this stranger. Accepting of his touch, seeking it even. '_Who are you_?' he wonders. River has never been overly tactile with anyone other than himself, not even their parents. Most strangers made her skittish and shy. And that was before this all happened. The others that assisted him in breaking her out of her prison had learned to stay away from her and out of her reach if they wanted their skin intact. So his sister's behavior now was odd in more ways than one.

The Doctor found that he really couldn't move because he had a nude body slumped back against him. He couldn't, shouldn't, look down either. He placed his hands on the thin shoulders of the teen-aged girl whose rump was settled against his leg as she unconsciously tried to minimize contact with the hot metal against her skin. Her entire back was settled against his chest and her head rested comfortably against the crook of his neck. His touch was greeted with a mental whisper like rain pattering on a spring day. This couldn't last. If he didn't think about it overly much he would be able to scoop her up and retrieve the discarded blanket to wrap her in. Wait a minute? Where did the previous user of that blanket go?

Simon found the strange man looking at him with an unreadable expression over the slumped head of his sister. She's balanced herself so that only the balls of her feet are actually touching metal, and it's clear that the other fellow can't really move without dumping her. Guilt filled his soul. It's all the young man can feel about what has happened. It's possible that the expression he's getting is one of anger or annoyance, but Simon can't really tell. He looks away, not down, because River is fairly exposed and he doesn't want to appear like he's staring at her, but away, focused on the burnt and crumpled wall.

Then the Doctor opened his mouth and said, "Oh, drat." Simon raised his eyes back to those uncanny others, "Looks like your patient is out wandering on his own," the Doctor continued. Simon spun around to find the space blanket discarded and the burn victim gone. Quite in spite of himself, the Tam scion lets off a string of choice Chinese. It's ear blistering and quite vulgar. And so very unlike the cultured man to let go like that. "I understood that, you do realize?" There's amusement in the all too human voice behind him; Simon closes his eyes.


	5. Part Five Distress

**A/N:**_ Thanks to my reviewers Arcander and My Reflection! This section didn't cover as much ground as I had hoped for, but I couldn't help but notice that each posting gets longer and longer and longer… So I stopped two scenes before I had planned to. I suppose nobody will mind. Onward with this Mutant Random Plot-Bunny. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Five

Distress

This was a nightmare, if he'd ever had one, Abu acknowledged as he looked from the varied faces of the survivors to the scene that greeted his eyes. Zeke and his mate, Shazza, were looking around with the fatalistic air of people who know exactly how bad the situation is but don't want to alarm anyone else with the news, he noted. Zeke's dusty skin seemed fine with the sun here, and Shazza merely put a hand up to shade her green eyes as she studied the landscape. The Imam gathered up his pilgrims, leaving Jack in the bushwhackers' care before the scarred, barren, rocky soil leeches the faith right out of him.

He led his trio past the businessman, Paris. The fellow is dressed in silks and smells of expensive cologne. There's no doubt that the asthmatic man teetered on shock, but is too arrogant to notice it. If this world had native life that might find them editable it's a toss up if the businessman would attract or deter them. The Imam's goal is just off to the side of the crash, so that he can shield his boys from the worse of the still smoldering scar that bisects the stark terrain. They had taken enough time finding and digging out the captain that the twin stars are hovering at about the four o'clock position, but still beating down upon them without mercy. As they walk away from the crumpled hull, back lit by the harsh light Abu notes the odd low hills off to his right and their strange spikes of earthen spires. Behind him the voice of the businessman floats on the dusty air, "Well. Our own little slice of heaven."

It was nothing short of ironic then that he couldn't figure out the celestial directions to pray. His pilgrims are already kneeling and he spins slowly looking for some internal clue that eludes him with puzzling intensity. With so much lost and so much to pray for, not knowing the direction is a blow to the gut. He looked toward the others, finally settling on the marshal to question, "Please...which way to New Mecca? We must know the direction in order to pray."

Johns looked at him with surprise and frowns. He's also aware suddenly at his rudderless internal compass. He scans the landscape and finally pulls out a device to indicate direction. '_That is not right_,' he thought as the needle spun like there's no magnetic north here at all. Beside him the Imam makes an expression that is almost dismay. Johns gives the man an apologetic look.

The eerie scream that had been ringing in the Imam's ears for so long that he almost became used to it stops suddenly. He and Johns share a glance about that too. A man has just died here, by either grace of God or temptation of the devil. Prayer was something he must do, and he found a way to deal with the fiendish trickster that this world is proving to be by placing each of his boys facing a compass direction.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The soft sobs from the woman to his right lasted for quite a long time before she gathered herself together and exited out into the sunlight. His one silver eye tracked her path through a tear in the blindfold. They had all but forgotten him, or nearly so. But no matter, he had a plan. Once he was sure that his blue-eyed-devil was occupied enough to be out of range with his pistol then he'd act on it. He currently felt moisture seep running down the wall from a crack in the cistern. He'd take care of his thirst. With her gone, he turned his face into the trickle and pressed his lips to it so that the water could dribble in around the horse-bit.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Carolyn Fry felt numb. More numb than she'd felt, ever. Getting the blood off her hand was impossible. Getting it off her warm up suit trivial. She shed the heavy jumpsuit and scrubbed her hand with a moist wipe that she had found in her nearly shattered locker. It's time to face the others and pretend that nothing has happened here. Steeling herself she strode out into sunlight that took her breath away. Having difficulty already breathing that became a rather difficult problem. She closed her eyes and paused, waiting for her body to settle a bit. She swallowed and headed out to the others. Johns is standing near the access ladder on the back of the ship's hull with a bewildered expression. She raises an eyebrow and he motions for her to climb. As she does so he followed her up speaking all the while, "Big talk about a scouting party." She notes that everyone except the pilgrims are already up here. Johns steers her attention out in front of them, "...then we saw this."

Her world narrows down to the smoldering, blackened groove cut into the yellow sand by the passage of the Hunter-Gratzner. Bits of ship, cryo-lockers, and what looks like cargo holds (and she is amazed to see that at least one of the bays that she dropped several orbits before contact ended up within sight of the main crash), spread out into the horizon. She blinks. It was mind shattering to think that there are any survivors at all, looking at the carnage that spread out across the planetscape. Honestly, she'd guess that anyone thrown from the ship as it came down was cooked like a baked potato in foil.

"Anyone else having breathing problems? Aside from me?" the art dealer asks from her right. Carolyn is breathing through her mouth at the moment, too shocked to actually react to the question.

Behind him, further to the right, came a kid's voice, "Like I just ran, or something..."

The bushwhacker female tags on, from Fry's left, "Feel one lung short. All of us," although she doesn't really act it.

"Well, I tend toward the asthmatic. And with all this dust..." Paris continued.

Carolyn is slowly becoming aware that all of them, even her saviors, are looking to her for answers. She tried to remember what Owens was rattling off as they were crashing. The technical babble boiled down to what, exactly? "It's the atmosphere. Too much pressure, not enough oxygen. Might take a few days to--"

But she is cut off by an angered voice, "So what the bloody hell happened, anyways?"

_Oh, like she planned this_? Fry was just as upset as everyone else was, here. This little trip had not been on the 'planned jaunts for my life' calendar, thank you very much. She glanced at Zeke, who had interrupted her, "Hey. _Somethin_' knocked us off-lane. Alright? Hull breach. We were leakin' air, and the crisis program did what it was supposed to do by finding a planet to land on. Maybe it was rogue comet. Or a cluster of micro-asteroids. All I know is that I_ watched_ Captain Mitchell become hamburger before he was fully awake. So you _just_ -- "

"Well, I for one, am thoroughly fucking grateful. This beast wasn't made to land like this. But cripes, you rode it down," Shazza cut in placing a hand on Fry's shoulder and defusing the fight that was building inside the blonde woman. Green eyes scanned over the others, "C'mon, you lousy ingrates, only reason we're alive is a'cuzza her."

The rest of the survivors seem to change their tune in the face of Shazza's glare. Carolyn is too shocked to really hear the thanks that are settled on her shoulders for her actions. Thanks she knows she doesn't deserve, that belong to Owens for stopping her. But she is too numb to show it. The guilt can't push its way past the shock, yet.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor had chosen to leave the Tams in each other's care for the moment. Well, the sister in her brother's care, anyhow. Aware that the young man was able to dress and settle his sister on the space blanket with professional detachment, he'd decided that the better part of valor for him was to leave the boy at it. He was hoping that standing in the sun, just out of sight of the sleeping girl, would be enough to keep Simon away but knew it was only a temporary measure. Now that River was settled, dressed, and as protected as she was going to get, the male Tam was looking for him. He could feel the mental sweep of the boy's mind as he searched. The Doctor's expression tightened, muscles bunching under the hairless skin along his jaw.

Coming around the corner, Simon spotted the tall man clad in black twill or denim slacks, dusty black shoes, and worn leather jacket that in this light could have been a charcoal brown. The stranger is a good four inches taller than he is, solidly built but not with a trace of fat. Simon can't say the gent is muscular, exactly, either. But strong, yes. Simon remembers even through his panic the feeling of those potent hands and arms grounding him and helping him breathe. Even from a distance it is clear that the fellow wants to be left alone. He exudes a kind of restrained power that Simon cannot ignore even with his shoulders hunched and his hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. The man is well aware of the fact that Simon is there even before he opens his mouth, "The suns don't seem to bother you much. I would have thought that with as pale as you are that you'd avoid the worse of the light," Simon is a medical doctor, a trauma surgeon to boot, but he's no expert. His eyes don't see signs of sunburn on the other gent's too fine, too smooth, too pale, hairless skin. He can't hide the curiosity that crept into his voice. "Is it Ectodermal dysplasia that makes you so sparsely tressed?"

The other man scoffs, "Forgetting your fugitive scans so soon?"

'_Not a genetic flaw then_,' Simon thought. That fact that the other fellow knew about the scans made the raven-haired man freeze in his tracks. "I'm sorry, but should I have not checked to see if you suffered injury in the crash?" It's as good a cover as any other is, but Simon refuses to admit that he wouldn't know what to do if the fellow had been damaged in the first place. The other man shrugs in response to the question. Silence fills the space between them, and it is not a comfortable one. "I never thanked you for saving my life."

"It's what I do, so I can assure you that I did nothing that was out of the way." The Doctor can feel what is coming next, the thing that always defines how people react to him. He's been avoiding it as best he can. The Introduction. And for once in his long life the Doctor wishes he had a name that humans could pronounce that _was_ his own. Only he doesn't. He could use his house name, Lungbarrow. He could use his nickname, Theta. Neither are his real name. He's never responded well to the use of alias. Using the old _John Smith_ might tide things over until he forgot to react to it. With how he's feeling _that_ might happen seconds after he's gotten the bloody thing out of his mouth. But telling this obvious medical expert that he's _The Doctor_ might not go over too well. And the psychic filtering he's doing for the boy's sister is giving him a headache the size of a mountain.

"I'm doctor Simon Tam, by the way."

He tried not to react, but is overly aware of the dark scowl twisting his face as he looks down at the dark haired, thin figure that has stepped in front of him with a hand out. The boy's vest is open, unbuttoned, showing off the expensive tailored shirt underneath. There's leather suspenders holding up his pants, which just about scream 'wealthy' with the fine details worked into the lines of his clothes. The Doctor can feel the inside of his leather pockets against the back of his hairless hands as he shoves them in deeper, an automatic reflex to avoid that strong suggestion to be polite. Social situations are not going to be this re-incarnation's forte'.

He can ignore it, he can avoid the implied question about who he is but accept the introduction, he can lie, or he can try to get the fellow to accept what he is willing to reveal. Somehow, he already knows that this young man has the intelligence of his sister behind the layers that deaden his imagination with human debris and hogwash about what is true and what is not. Any lie he tries will last all of a blink before being exposed. The longer he waits, the more it seems like he's ignoring the lad and the further the hand wavers. '_Oh, this won't do_.' the Doctor thinks. "Doctor Tam," he starts, "I wish this were under better circumstances." He slowly draws his hand out and takes the warm palm being offered in a firm but not crushing grip.

The pulse of energy that connects them for the split second is enough to make Simon lose his balance and sway dangerously. The cool grasp in his own keeps him upright. And he finds that his other hand has come up to grip the wrist, too. He can't recall if the man said his name or how long he's been frozen like this and he feels slightly foolish. The odd fluttering pulse beats double-tempo through skin that is so cool it nearly scares Simon. A human with this body temperature would be in serious trouble. The reminder that this gent is not human is found in those aged but timeless eyes. He's caught in that intense stare like a fly in honey and can't break free. "Pardon. I think the heat is getting to my head," he mumbled.

The Doctor is becoming quite aware that something strange is going on here. Simon and his sister can't be _normal_ humans with the sheer amount of gratuitous energy that is passing between the three of them. Admittedly, _he_ started it by trying to help the girl, but – the resounding feedback from her brother is not warranted. He had a funny feeling that there was more to this than the TARDIS had wanted him to know. Even though Simon's single-handed hold on his arm threatened to leave a bruise the Doctor doesn't try to get the man to release him. "It's not the heat, Simon Tam. Tell me what happened to your sister."

It's a command, not a request. Simon isn't really aware of his mental 'sharing' as he responds by preparing to actually tell his story. But he finds himself wondering about the man still and responds out loud, "No. I don't know anything about you." He starts to pull away and finds that the stranger has not let him go, "Give me some reason, any reason, to trust you, and I'll tell you." _As if saving his life isn't enough_…

There are an unreasonable number of things that flash through the Time Lord's mind about what he wants to do to this amazing _human_ boy. The events that led them to this moment flashed between them, in so much detail that the Doctor knew Simon had choked down a piece of dry toast the morning before rescuing his sister and not eaten since. He knew the color of the boy's bedroom back on his parent's estate. And there was a familiar image that sat on the mantel above the fake fireplace in the formal dining room there that told the Doctor exactly who this dear child was. He could shake him, hug him, or hit him, or kiss him even… So like Susan, in so many ways… And yet so undeniably human. Instead of doing any of those things the Doctor said, "I'm the _Doctor_, Simon. And there's a reason you and yours called me here." He just had to find out what that reason was.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

She'd managed to play 'Captain' enough to get everyone back inside the shade before anyone passed out from the effects of the double dose of sun. Now to deal with the lack of oxygen before that Paris fellow made her ears fall off with his whining. Shazza and Zeke are willing to help out any way they can, so are currently standing and holding heavy pressure suits that she is pulling out of the emergency crew lockers. She handed the second to the last suit to Zeke, "Liquid oxygen canisters inside. Start ripping them out. Quick hits only – try to make it last."

The one boy, Jack, seemed to follow Zeke almost as much as Ali. Currently he was with Zeke, "Well, is someone coming for us? Or are we all just gonna die of exposure or dehydration or sunstroke or maybe even something worse?" The stream of questions makes even the bushwhackers look queasy. "Hey, you don't have to worry about scaring me," the child says in earnest.

The wild-haired woman rolls her eyes at the kid, "Jack, luv," she holds up her hands to quiet the boy. "We're worried you'll scare us, not the other way around."

It doesn't work for long; "Do we even have enough food? Or will we have to resort to cannibalism?"

Zeke reaches over and squeezes the back of the child's neck with his free hand in warning before saying to Carolyn, "I'll see 'bout makin' this air go a bit further, cap'n. With your permission, a' course."

The blonde woman nods. She still was getting used to this idea that she's in charge. The bushwhackers drag Jack and the heavy gear away. It was only then that she realized that there was another issue to deal with. She frowns at the man chained to the bulkhead. Johns has been haunting the proceedings without much to add. Fry looks at the badge, "And him?"

The redhead's blue eyes follow her gaze, "Big Evil?"

She shoots Johns a look that said '_no, the Easter bunny, dipshit_,' before turning and settling her weight against a downed bit of the console, "We just keep him locked up forever?"

"Be my choice. Already escaped once from the max-slam facility on -- "

Fry cut off the rattling; "I don't need his life story. Is he really that dangerous?"

William Johns isn't irritated with her, but rather amused. Actually she's not a bad looking woman, and he could see promise in knowing her. "Only around humans."

Carolyn has been watching the unmoving figure, with his odd position, and his face against the metal hull. Something about it tickles her senses. She moves closer. What is that dark glistening – "Oh, Christ..." She doesn't wait, breaking into a run and snagging up one of the discarded lights. She hits the ladder in a run and clambers up faster than she's ever moved before. Johns half follows her through the parts of the ship that haven't seen humans in years. But the woman knows her way around and finds the crank-hatch for the cistern without need to backtrack. Her pause makes his heart stop for a moment. He can see light that is not from her hand beam flooding through the hatch.

"Well? Is it just the pump?" He hopes beyond hope that it is, but knows already that it's not.

She slams the hatch closed. "It's empty. Drained out onto the sand. We need to head to the cargo bay and see if there's anything to drink." Her voice sounded dead in the oppressive heat.


	6. Part Six Blue

**A/N:**_ I find that I do so love reviews. Such kind words makes me want to write even more. Thanks to my reviewers: My Reflection, Arcander and Delphine Pryde, and my new story alert-ers (… yeah) Basia Orci and Delphine Pryde. Is this still a Mutant Random Plot-Bunny? _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Six

Blue

The cargo bay that looked close was farther a walk than the docking pilot could have imagined. It appeared near, but the sheer size of the detached bay deceived the eye into thinking that it was smaller and less distant than it really was. The thoughts kept circling in her head as variations on the theme as she trudged through burnt alien soil that shifted under her feet like rocky sand making every step an exercise in not falling flat on her face. A walking stick might have been a good idea.

They ended up walking until her lungs burned and her legs ached. Behind her Paris wheezed something horrid. She really, almost, felt bad for him, but then, if this was his cargo then he lucked out. Certainly he had more luck than Owens did already. She eyed the cargo bay and noticed that the light seemed to find holes in the hull and pierce though the shadows with pinprick brightness that had no visible cause. Of course, she couldn't find cause for any of this.

It was just uncanny that even one of the cargo holds managed to come down this close to the bulk of the rest of the ship. It was even stranger that the _Hunter-Gratzner_'s forward bays hadn't hit it as they slid past on the final touchdown. This compartment was one of 3 double bays, and the last one that they picked up this trip, if the Chinese graffiti that hadn't fully burned off during entry was any indication. Which would mean that the other cargo containers might be located in the opposite direction. But how far was anyone's guess.

Somehow the entire thing had landed nearly intact and was in better shape than hull scrap she'd ridden down. Hopefully the cargo inside wouldn't be smashed to pieces. The twin suns had crept ever so slowly toward the horizon, giving the impression of very, very long days here. From the moment she had realized that there was nothing to drink every second seemed critical. Hours could have and likely did pass with the suns just hanging suspended in the sky. They had moved though, according to Johns. She just hadn't been aware of it.

The hike to the cargo bay left her winded. She sure hoped to heaven that there was something to drink here. If there wasn't they wouldn't last another day. Johns and Imam worked together to force the door open. The bay was tilted at an angle like one corner hit first and embedded itself into the alien soil. Carolyn had to scramble up into the doorway with help. Then she turned and had to give the wheezing Paris a hand up too.

Johns and the holy man managed just fine without help, having longer legs. The art dealer scanned the containers lining the hall. He set off mumbling in Chinese to himself stopping to touch each door and peer at the symbols etched into them. Rounding a corner he stopped at a very large container, one that took up an easy quarter of the space, "Mine here…"

Carolyn is surprised. "Wow, really?" Talk about tossing-salt-over-your shoulder and knock-on-wood luck. The overweight puffy man had it in spades. She wondered if a little would rub off on her if she stuck close to him. The marshal shifted beside her, swaying.

"You'd be surprised what trades from various core worlds in Blue Sun, Tangiers and Helion. I make this run quite regular. And this is the first time, ever, that there has been a problem." He turns his attention to the lock, "Actually, I'm getting too old for this. You realize I spent my seventy-fifth birthday in cryo-sleep?"

Fry would have been paying attention to the prattle if not for the marshal lurching dangerously beside her on a slope that would be dangerous to slip on, "S'matter?" she says, catching his arm.

Johns steadied himself against the bulkhead wall and blinked like he'd experienced a wave of dizziness. "I got on at Conga remember? They had an epidemic of the flu sweeping them. The Doc planetside said I was past contagious and cleared me to leave because the authorities wanted Sir-Shiv-a-Lot out of the system. I guess I haven't totally kicked it yet."

"Lack of water can't be helping."

The badge shook his head slowly. The doors to Paris' cargo container swung open revealing exotic treasures from various periods of history, mostly reproductions from all across Earth-that-Was. It is a juxtaposition of East and West, Primitive and modern, and everything in between. There are a few genuine items though, dating back over 500 years. "King Tut's tomb..." Johns said in awe. There must be several million credits worth of stuff here that she can see. And who knows how much more lurked under the padding and mooring straps that secured some of the stuff.

The art dealer moved into his hold checking over the status of the items. Amazingly, it looked like just about everything is in prime shape. "Looks like a few scratches here and there, but luckily none of the truly priceless items are harmed." Fry cleared her throat. "Oh, right. Not what we are here for." He moved over to some containers that are heavily padded and strapped. It takes some knife work to get the ornate chests and cabinets open, but inside are dusty bottles of sherry. Vintage Port. Glenfiddich. Bicardi 151. Rare rice wine from 2330 Japan. All carefully packed inside fitted webbing of cushioning foam. The best and most exotic wines and hard liquors from the Core planets. It's like a liquor store of ancient and rare spirits all perfectly preserved.

Carolyn gives him an exasperated expression; "This is it? Booze? _That's_ what you have to drink?"

If there was one thing that the art dealer cannot stand was lower-class trash trying to cheapen his line of work. No one in their right mind would call any of this fine stockpile of spirits 'booze' any more then they'd dare call the Mona Lisa a 'drawing'. Clearly their fine _captain_ has no class. "Humph," he said under his breath as he turned to look at her, "200-year-old single-malt scotch is to 'booze' as _foie gras_ is to 'duck guts,'" Paris sneered at her.

Fry sneered right back, feeling not a wit of compassion for the man. He can keep his goddamned luck. Highbrow ass.

But Johns doesn't really care about any of the fancy stuff. He'd drink moonshine right now. He picks up a bottle, peels off the webbing, and looks at the fancy black label and rich amber contents. It looks as good as any other, and the mix of Chinese, Arabic, and English on the label pretty much cements that it's meant for import. He cracks it open, "A toast to whatever he just said."

"I'll need a receipt for that." The art dealer looks from Fry to Johns to Fry, "For all these. This is my personal stash."

Johns offers her the bottle and she accepts it, "Top of my list." Imam and his two older pilgrims are watching from the doorway. The boys look slightly envious, while the holy man looks stern. After swallowing she looks up at him, "I don't suppose..."

The dark man shakes his head; "It is not permitted, especially while on Hajj."

"There is no water. You understand that, don't you?" Johns tosses over Fry's shoulder.

There's a smile, a knowing smile, on the Imam's lips; "All deserts have water. It just waits to be found. I know God shall lead us there."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

She is aware, first, of the calm that seemed to cushion her. It feels so nice that she almost rolled over and curled back up on the hard metallic surface she's laying on. But she's not sleepy, never was really. Simon had made her sleep with his needle when what she needed was someone to understand so that she could comprehend. The peace, she noted, faintly boiled with something not so calm. She can see the blue and black texture of it in her mind as it rolls and foams, alien to her mind, and not touching it like there's glass between them. It's kind of beautiful in a scary way. The storm has so much hegemony, power and fury, untapped for the most part, but there a thought away, for use whenever needed. She felt herself swell, like she is filling up the space that had been reclaimed in her mind.

There are knots in her brain, her psyche; still, that she doesn't want to look at yet. But once the time comes, she guessed, that the storm would be there with her, feeding her the element that they share. And maybe, just maybe, she could be River again. A girl, with just a bit more. And perhaps Simon would believe. Because right now her brother, brilliant as he was, didn't understand. He couldn't see or hear or feel the things she did. Not yet anyway. He still needed to learn that not everything he'd read was set in stone fact, and the humans did not know all the secrets of the 'Verse.

River stretched, catlike and graceful, as the chemical sleep eased out of her body. She found herself dressed in a loose cotton tunic and bike shorts that are knit but wicking the moisture away. She has not opened her eyes yet but knows that there are boots just off to her left with thick socks stuffed into the right hand one. And a natural colored linen duster is folded just past that with a wide brimmed had settled on top of it. Simon's solars are hiding under the hat, as if she can't tell they are his. She can knows this because she sees it in her mind, even as she processes what her body is feeling.

Hot. Oh so hot. Hot and dry. So not _blue_. Not wet.

"Here," came a voice that she didn't, yet she did, know. There was a warped bottle being pressed into her hand. The other holding it left behind tickles of frost on the container. She sat up and opened her dark eyes, looking at the mysterious patterns as they faded oh so quickly from the terrible heat of this baked world. The sealed bottle was filled with cool water. So tempting to just gulp it down, fast. But that would make her sick, as dry as she was. She thumbed the seal off and sipped, eyes wandering about, looking for whatever there was to see.

Overlaid on top of the ruins and shattered alien landscape, filaments drifted about, some catching an ethereal wind and fluttering about with only one connection, others seemed securely attached and bound, coil like, flexible but tensed, almost waiting. And there was the other kind, the third type that shifted and shimmered and seemed unconnected to anything. But that had to be a lie. She figured she just couldn't see the connection was all. The color of them was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She could peg them as gold-ish, and warm-ish, and sometimes even a bit amber or green-ish but none of those terms actually fit.

She tilted her head to the side as one of the ribbons tickled her nose with the scent of lightning and honey, cloves and musk. She turned her head to follow it and found herself looking at a man with smooth skin stretched over etched features. His ears seemed too large for his head, just slightly. It wasn't bad looking, just strange in an unsettling way that she couldn't place a finger on. "Hello, River," he said in that familiar, but not, voice.

She knows that they are both water. Blue. She flows; he rages. She cuts; he washes away. She's a river; he's a tempest. She sits, just staring at him. He lets her. She sips from the bottle again, soaking in the cool of him, the calm and the void. Water is a strong thing, able to slip and change, becoming part of the air, moving the earth, cracking the stone, quenching the fire. She's never seen herself as strong before, but watching him she glimpses a possible truth, a possible path, something she can cut for herself, if she dares.

He was sitting cross-legged on the metal floor, unconcerned about the temperature. She mimics his position, her deep ebony hair falling into her face in long tangled strands. The sleeves of the tunic brush her bare calves as she wiggles her toes out of simple desire to feel the air against them. Her eyes never leave his face, however, even as she drinks in every detail about him that she can perceive.

The only concession she could see that he's made to the heat is that his jacket is in his lap and the thin forest green sweater has been tossed over the edge of the white box leaving him with a dusty black tee. His exposed arms are smooth as can be, with less hair than a child would have. What is there is wispy and blonde, even though the hair on his scalp is dark and brown. And clumpy-patchy looking. And very soft, like it's never been cut even though it is short. Baby hair, only too thick.

And then there are his eyes, so like Simon's in color but like her own in what they see. Universes are born and die in his eyes, and time flows forward and back and sideways in his hands. Creation and destruction. Justice and vengeance. Paradoxes and truths. So much pain and so much love. Both old as the 'verse itself and new as an infant. It's a rush to know these things, these secret things. To see that trust he has in her goodness, shattered as she is. In that moment she loves him, for all the selfless things he's done, and will do, regardless of the pain he suffers. Is suffering. Right now. Because he was the one filtering for her, holding the chaos at bay. River let that timeless, unbounded love flow like water. She sipped again letting her element renew her in more ways than one and smiled shyly at him through the curtain of her hair, "Hello." His name doesn't matter, she _knows_ who he is.

"Simon is resting, but we do need to move soon. I'd like to find the others before someone else falls foul of this world's secrets. How do you feel?" It's been a long time since anyone has asked her that. How does she feel? Hot. Her bum is sore from the metal under it. But aside from that, fairly normal. Blessedly normal. Like a girl. With a bit extra. She flashed him a brilliant smile, not hiding now behind the shield of her hair.

He knows how she feels, she knows. At the moment, his universe and hers run in sync. "Fantastic," he said, mirroring her smile. It changes his entire face. For a second and an eternity he's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen. Even with the odd ears, large hands and strange skin he is truly gorgeous. And truly terrible. The people that have hurt her are going to be in very deep _gou-shi_ she knows. Because he knows _everything_. Under the calm and the smile is a smoldering rage, water-fueled turmoil that can wipe worlds clean. She can see it boil just on the other side of the glass. Blue and black. And she's not afraid anymore of the torrent that flows from within her own source of water with its ability to move and shape and flood and alter. He's the storm; she's the river. They are both blue, liquid, elemental water. And Water is mighty.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Richard B. Riddick had been a lot of things in his day. Hunter and hunted. Killer and savior. Entertainer and brawler. And once, long ago, he'd been the good guy gone bad because a bad guy said so. He'd learned that the 'verse wasn't a fair place. Winner takes all, loser dies. It had been the rule for so long he didn't remember when it had first been set like that. He'd never been a loser, and he was determined to keep it that way.

Now, his blue-eyed-devil was gone. So were the noisy pilgrims. All he had to do was avoid the bushwhackers and make like the wind outta here. Then they'd be playing by his rules, his game. But it was best to not get too far ahead of himself. None of those plans for his amusement could happen until after he got free. After he got his hands in front of him. From behind. And he was cuffed with stiff bindings with his hands around a pillar and his feet looped to a peg drilled into the floor.

Most people would give it up as hopeless. But one thing Richard B. Riddick was not was being like most people. There wasn't a slam out there that could hold him, thus far anyhow. He'd slipped them all, even the 'fool-proof' ones, the deep-storage triple-max installations where no one even retained their name; the max-sec ones where being in space kept most prisoners docile, planetside or deep vacuum, didn't matter. So this… This was nothing more than a game. And it was time to change the rules.

He could see the cutting torch that the lady bushwhacker used to cut the kid free sitting just within reach. The welding goggles were discarded next to it. It's perfect. Like its fated. Sometimes, Johns makes this too easy. He looked up with his one clear eye and could see the fracture in the support post. _Just all too easy_. The fake-badge thinks that pain will detour him from seeking freedom? Not a chance in hell.

And he already knows it's going to be a painful maneuver, getting his stiff chains up that high. Near the ceiling where the bulkhead fractured just a slim opening where maybe, just maybe, he could pass them through. But he and pain are old friends. Older than he and Johns are adversaries.

He centered himself mentally and shimmied up the post until his back is against it, first stiff then loose and free. He can do this. _No pain_. His shoulders dislocate from their sockets as he rotated his arms up, backwards from how they are supposed to go. He's just slightly too short and has to rise up on his tiptoes to make the gap, but he does it. His balance is shit, coming down. But he feels no pain as he hits the floor, reaching for the torch as he lands like a bellyflop into water only the surface is solid metal. The jolt against the floor pushes at least one shoulder back into place.

Freedom is so close he can taste it.

He quickly makes short work of the wrist cuffs, the ankle chains, the horse-bit and the blindfold. He smirks as he slips on the goggles and carries Johns' expensive but useless high-security gear out into the alien landscape in a bid to confuse the shit out of the mercenary, '_Lets see how you cope with my spreading your shit all around the crash site, okay, Johnny-boy? 'Cuz I ain't going back to slam, not this time_.'


	7. Part Seven Fire

**A/N:**_ Gee, this is a first. I finish a chapter and there's no one to thank! Oh wait... I see you there, My Reflection. So I suppose I should thank you. I'm thrilled that you liked the part about River and the Doctor. The scene there was one that I dreamt about and thought was just so very powerful. So for the rest of you. did this Mutant Random Plot-Bunny run ya' off or is it because it's a Sunday night? Or do you all not like it when I put out two chapters a day? _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Seven

Fire

Liquid fire sloshed in his belly, from the liquor he'd consumed, from his fear of what he was seeing, from his need. It was impossible. Totally, completely, utterly impossible. But it had happened. Marshal William Johns was seeing the evidence in the _empty_ space of shadows. Through the heat of this world's day, ice moved down his spine at the thought of the killer on the loose. There was the cutting torch, so carelessly left behind, the blindfold with its tear in the leather from some stunt the con pulled before his near fatal choking attempt. The cut and melted coils of metal are like a slap to the face. A dare. The pricey item is useless, not even repairable. The redhead kicks it and plucks his pistol out of his holster. If he sees the son-of-a-bitch he gonna just shoot 'em and leave 'em to bleed. Bounty be damned.

He stomped outside, "Stay close to the hull, and in sight of each other. He's less likely to pick you all off if you are in a group." The tone is commanding enough that the other survivors huddle around where the bushwhackers are working. Paris even shimmies his back to the wall. "Let me see if I can figure out where he might have gone." No one argues with him as he stepped out, alone, into the alien afternoon. He pulls his scope and scales the hull, looking for glints that are not from broken ship.

The Horizon is clear, there's no sign of movement to indicate someone running. But he spots flashes of chrome sliver, far too bright to be from the ship's hull, scattered at even points all around the crash site, that look an awful lot like the high security cables have been sliced apart into segments rather evenly. And there's one other larger piece. He practically flies off the hull in a run towards it. It's the section of the horse-bit that was across the con's face, the teeth guard snapped in two, and the cable straps sprinkled around it in small sections about the size of a pinky joint. "Like we needed another way to die," he muttered to himself as he kneels to scoop it up.

Only it trails through his fingers like so many marbles. Riddick had the time to carefully set every damn piece to make it look like a solid bit. "Ah, Fuck!" The animal could be miles away, or watching. There's no way to tell. And Johns hasn't a clue as to what _is_ going on in the killer's mind either. Suddenly he's scared. So stupid to put himself in this position. '_Riddick could kill me here and the others wouldn't know until they find the body, if they found the body at all_.' He stands and hurries back to the main cluster of survivors.

Carolyn spotted the redhead first as he came into view. The man looks pasty. It's not a good look for him, nor does it bode well. "What did you find?"

"He's playing a mind-game. I gotta figure it out. You, all of you, need to stay together, don't go anyplace without at least one other person with you. And that means one of you older boys stays with the two kids at all times. Am I clear?" He looks at the pilgrims and gets nods from them. "Imam, Zeke, -- Paris, we'll need weapons, objects to set up a perimeter, ways to keep in constant communication. I've seen this animal take out squads of highly trained specialists on his own."

"So, back to the cargo bay?" Paris prompts.

Carolyn coughs, "Um. Owens had a security card that will unlock all of the compartments. You want it?"

"Give it to Zeke." He caught one of the older pilgrims with a friendly arm over his shoulder and waved to Paris, "Lets head back over there, and we'll help you sort through your stuff, Mr. Olgivie. Father, you and Zeke can catch up with us after you get the card."

Abu nodded, face grave. As the one group of three detached from the others, he and Zeke turned to follow the docking pilot into the nav bay. He was glad that he did so, as the body still needed to be dealt with. Fry had put a cloth over the fellow's face at least. She found the card and handed it over. "Get it right back t' you, as soon as we're done with it. You should have it, not me," said Zeke.

"Just don't get caught out there with that killer, that's all I ask. I'll lend Shazza a hand."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Simon Tam found himself walking, and carrying a pole of metal with fabric wrapped around the top of it so that it functioned as a walking stick. More than once he had almost slipped as the alien dirt shifted underfoot. River was carrying his bag; her sturdy boots and easy stride making it look like she was just walking down the sidewalk. The solars she refused to wear, giving them back, but the floppy, wide brimmed hat she wore with glee, especially after the Doctor had teased her by trying to unsuccessfully steal it. Two buttons just above her waist fitted her long, sleeveless duster to her thin form, but it hung open the rest of the way. The skirt of it swished about her legs, bellowing elegantly like a ball gown as she playfully moved between them, sometimes walking backwards, her eyes caught up in watching something he couldn't see.

He glanced at the Doctor, catching the soft near-smile that the gent seemed to reserve just for River. The strange being moved with the same ease over the alien soil that _Mei-Mei_ did. Almost matching her energy, if not her playfulness. The main concession Simon had gotten out of him was that he wear a brimmed cap, one that nearly matched the leather jacket. While the Doctor had scoffed at him, River's desire to not wear a hat eventually made him see sense and don one himself. Simon's headgear was more like a cross between a cowboy and a top hat, but at least he put it on without complaint.

They had been walking for a very long time, under the fire of twin suns that are slowly creeping toward sunset. The Doctor seemed unconcerned about nightfall, and Simon wondered why but refused to ask. There are cryo-lockers, plexi cracked from extreme heat and filled with blackened bodies, scattered along their route. Most have been opened and the eyes of the dead closed. Simon knows that this is the Doctor's work, him doing what he can for dead and the living. He tries not to dwell on it.

There existed a certain sense, a circumstance that the trauma surgeon was aware of enough that it bothered him, of something altered. River was more like her old self, but far too quiet. Not like she wanted to be, but more like she didn't remember words as such. He'd gotten single syllables out of her, his name, _yes_, _no_,_ here_, and laugher. It wasn't like she couldn't communicate, but rather that she was communicating above him, over his head, and forcing herself to drop down to his level once in a while. But with the Doctor, there existed a constant stream of information like they were carrying on total discourses with each other, on some level far over his head. He felt like an idiot among intellectual giants.

River made him feel like that a lot, actually. Usually though she tried at least to include him. Now she wasn't. Or couldn't. Pain flashed through his soul at the surfacing thoughts about what he witnessed happening to his sister, 'Mei-Mei, _what did they do you_?' He stumbled and felt cool hands settle on his upper arms, catching him before he fell face first into the shifting grains of rocky earth. That strength was still there, like steel cable, and every time Simon thought he's going to loose it he found himself centered, and the panic held at bay. Something whispered across his mind, like a rumble of thunder or voices overheard on approach to a lecture hall. It faded. He glanced at the Doctor, who was setting him back on his feet and got a smile that left him feeling bewildered.

"Keep listening, doctor Tam, and you will hear." River's delight, vocalized, floated on the dense, hot air at the words, leaving him feeling even more confused.

"Hear what?"

River stuck her tongue out at him. "Always problematical to get him to see past his own face," she said to the Doctor like it's a secret shared between friends. It's the most Simon has heard his sister say at once since she went away to that cursed academy. He stared at her.

"Is it now? Well I suppose then that we have our work cut out for us, then. Don't we?" The Doctor is scrutinizing him over like he's a lab specimen. Simon started with surprise at the look then noticed the humor behind it. "Now, did you see that expression? Oh, yes. That was _classic_." River smiled at her brother with a twinkle in her brown eyes that he's missed terribly for the last two years. It lit up her face and made him feel all of eight years old again, washing away the time and pain.

River and the Doctor are teasing him, at the moment. He half-laughs, makes a rueful face and shakes his head. He'll let this slide, for now. But he knows something is going on, and where his sister is concerned he can't let there be any more secrets. As Simon turned to resume his pace he missed the look that passes between the other two. They know his determination and are counting on it to force him to look into the impossible and see, _really see_, what the 'Verse is all about.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Shazza and the 'captain' had moved the breather assembly line inside, dragging in the two young boys, Ali and Jack and the older pilgrim, Suleiman with them. Waiting for the men, Johns, Paris, Zeke, Hassan, and the Imam to return, they forced the boys into helping with the construction process, measuring and cutting tubing, fitting parts together and applying glue to the joints, and in general staying busy.

Johns' voice echoes through the dense air, "I don't know, it seems the cargo bay might be more defensible than the main hull area, It's got fewer openings to guard…"

"Death trap, tha' is," replied Zeke. "No bloody way out." The footsteps are heavy and laden down as they clamber up into the nav bay. Zeke finally spots Shazza, "Gees, luv. Don't go scaring me like that." She set down the part she is fitting and moved to him, offering a hug and removing some of his load.

Hassan is helping Paris carry in what has been salvaged from his cargo in the way of 'weapons' while Abu and Johns both carry gear from other storage areas. They have trip wires and the makings for snares and traps. Someone on board was a hunter of big game, not that the individual has survived. Johns doesn't anticipate Riddick will fall for the traps, but the man might think twice if he spots one and imagines there are more better hidden.

His own gear was stored near his cryo-locker, one of the benefits of having a badge. He settled down the gear that he'd carried in for Zeke and moved over to his own. He pulls out two hard cases and begins putting his guns together.

Zeke and Shazza have survival gear, including a pick-ax, digging tools, hunting boomerangs, knives, and, best of all, their experience. They offer it all up to the others, allowing total strangers access to their stuff in hopes that it improves the chances of survival for everyone.

Imam and his boys have ceremonial blades, but not much else by way of weapons other than their faith.

And then there are the items from Paris's cargo. "Want to explain what you got, Mr. Olgivie?" Johns said.

"Oh. Well – These are authentic Maratha crow-bill war-picks from Northern India. Not reproductions, but the real thing. Very rare."

"Go on, wow the ladies with your impressive carved stick," Zeke adds fingering the odd object that he's been staring at the entire trip back from the cargo bay.

Paris frowns, "Excuse me, but _that _is a Blow-dart hunting stick from Papua New Guinea. Also authentic. Worth more than this entire ship, in fact. It's very, _very_ rare, since the tribe's extinct and the secret to making them has been lost. I should have left it in it's packing, but the marshal said to gather all weapons."

The dusty skinned man looks less than impressed with the lecture, "Extinct, huh? 'Cuz they couldn't hunt shit with this thing, be my guess."

"They used poison darts and were very effective hunters. Habitat destruction and war killed them off not the weapons they used," he snapped. Zeke stepped away from the man and his temper. Paris turned to Johns, "Now, you said this was necessary, why? What's the need, anyway? If he's gone, he's gone. Why should he bother us?"

Johns looked at Paris and then the others that were all watching him. He sighed. "How long do you think he can live out there? No food? No water? He's gonna come back and take what we got. That's just survival. But y'all don't know Riddick, so I'll tell you his real reason." He noted he has their full attention. "The man loves a good game, and there's nothing better than picking off a bunch of folks one at a time, unless it's making them turn on each other. If he don't come back to kill y'all in your sleep then he'll do it to skull-fuck you. The animal lives for the thrill of the kill."

"Sounds like a charmer," Shazza comments as people scramble for weapons.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that was like a lead ball. It was that 'danger' feeling that he'd developed in the war, and if it weren't for the fact that the enemy _had_ to be totally wiped out he'd be jumping for a weapon of his own. As it was, he settled for gripping his sonic screwdriver and wishing for a nice hot cuppa. London would have been a nice stop, maybe just after the turn of the 20th century. But no, here he was 500 years later, on some forsaken planet; feeling like a giant pepper mill was going jump out at him at any moment.

The Doctor snorted at his own internal melodrama. The only thing about to happen here was the dual sunrise and sunset of three stars. Another couple hundred thousand years he's going to have to come back to witness the supernova, he thought as the blue star nudged its way toward crest of the hills.

"Doctor?" Came the rather uncertain voice of the male Tam.

"Yes?" he answers, looking over at the lad.

"Is that? – I mean, there," he gestures at the blue glow tainting what should have been darkness falling.

"A third sun, you mean?" The Doctor offered, as he caught River by the hand lightly. "Yes, Simon. There's no – nightfall here, not for a bit at least."

The Tam scion swallowed and forced his eyes away from the brightness growing to the east, "That's why you suggested walking now? Because it's cooler?"

The Doctor made a typical scoffing sound before adding, "A point to you, lad. But come on. It's only going to get hotter from here."

"You don't seemed surprised."

"It's not my bloody fault that you humans don't have an internal sense for magnetic fields, now is it? The planet is washed with solar winds from both sides and lacks a magnetic north. That's how I knew." Simon stands there staring at the Doctor's back as he and River pull ahead on the path, "Now, let's _go_. We've got places to be."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Johns stood atop the crash ship, scanning with his scope. The traps are set, but there's no sign of the bounty anywhere. He fixated on another oddity though. There's a blue glow on the horizon. _'What the hell is it?'_

Below him the breathers are being tested and fitted to folks. Shazza gives prototype to Jack who sucks on the mouthpiece -- and finds that it works, supplying oxygen on demand rather than in a constant flow. The sound of a delighted child floats up to Johns' ears. At least something is going right.

The pilgrims have converted to traditional bedouin head-gear, readying for travel, because the must find water. Carolyn has managed to get the three others of the_ Hunter-Gratzner_ crew ready for burial. It's the least they can do. She looked to the yellow sun, low on the horizon. The red sun seemed inclined to follow. If they are going to find water then now is the time. "Imam. We should leave soon. Before nightfall but while it's cooler."

Johns scrambles to the ground as the pilgrims begin calling in Arabic, "Imam...Imam..."

Paris clears his throat, "Um, I think there's something you all should see."

They turn as a third sun flares into view.

"Bloody Hell!" Shazza stated. Carolyn found that she is inclined to agree.

Jack murmured, "_Three_ suns?"

"So much for your nightfall," Zeke said to the docking pilot. She opens and closes her mouth and then nods at him, blinking.

"So much for my cocktail hour." Paris states glumly.

Abu and Hassan walk up, arm in arm, "We take this to be a good sign -- a path, a direction from God. Blue Sun, Blue Water."

Zeke looks at him like he's off his rocker, "Ever wonder why I'm atheist?" The Imam just smiles at him.

"I take it as a bad sign. I'm guessing that's Riddick's direction," Johns cut in.

"But you found your gear scattered all over, and the bit over at sunset." Fry pointed out.

Johns pinched the bridge of his nose, "Call it a hunch from hunting his ass all over the _gorram_ 'Verse, Okay? I think he went toward sunrise." He took off his pistol and handed it to Zeke.

"What, you're goin' off, too?"

"Look, Zeke. I don't want to run into this guy without a gun. Johns is leaving you one, you said you were a crack shot. We need the marshal with us, just in case. Stay on your guard and -- Just do me a favor, huh? Get my crewies buried? They were good guys who died bad." Fry begs.

Shazza placed a hand on the blonde woman's arm, "A'course we will."

"Zeke, one shot if you spot him, okay? I'll come straight back." Johns reassures the dusky skinned man. Zeke made a resigned face and nodded.

"What if Mr. Riddick spots us first?"

Johns looks at Paris, "There will be no shots."


	8. Part Eight Hajj

**A/N:**_ Folks have noticed that this is cranking along, a couple thousand words a day. Well, yes! Okay, thing is, I have a Time Lord stuck in my brain… and he's sharing it with River Tam. Boy, is it ever crowded in here. _**:-D**_ I want to thank Delphine Pryde for flagging this as a favorite story. And I also thank my reviewers, My Reflection, Arcander, Kateri1, ck16, and Nighthowler. Must've been slow yesterday because it was Sunday. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Eight

Hajj

Richard B. Riddick, Convicted Murder, was following his nose. The sun beat down on his bare arms and warmed the remaining coils of metal around his wrists almost to the point that he thought the skin underneath was blistering. He'd fled with no water, and no food. And this world seemed to lack both. He must have lost his mind. That was all he could figure, with the ever so strange route he found himself taking. Following his nose, literally.

Why? He didn't know, but it seemed the thing to do. The direction he found himself pursuing was that of the crash scar. The scent he was on was one of mint and honey, and alien odors that he couldn't properly name but identified as 'spicy-sweet with a hint of musk'. His intent upon gaining his freedom had been to mess with Johns' mind a bit before ending the bastard. But for some reason he'd veered away from that idea almost as soon as he'd gotten free. He'd barely set the last bit of the mind-fuck into place before discarding the entire works to pursue this other path. He kept asking himself why, and then catching that _scent_ again. There was something about it that made him forget all his internal arguments.

He paused and checked the various cryo-lockers in the nearest cluster. They had blown out after the rest of them. Ahead he spotted another cluster loosely linked together. He peered into one to see how bad he could have died if he'd stayed put. The conclusion he was drawing was 'broiled alive,' actually. The locker closest to him held an individual so badly burnt and riddled with holes that he couldn't make out if it was male or female.

The bronzed-complexioned man shivered and backed away. It took a lot to disgust him, with all he'd seen about the darker side of human nature but this was pretty dang close. Power of an impersonal 'Verse on display for all puny humans to witness, that. Which meant, of course, that he had _just_ avoided whatever it was that riddled the hull with holes. He wasn't the sort to be thankful about it either. _Damn God and all his little Angels_. For years he'd chased death, wanted it, welcomed it, and every damn time it teased him by shaving oh _so_ close, but missing him. Jinxed. _That_'s what he was. Jinxed by death and pain.

Sometimes the ex-ranger thought he was a tool used by fate, quite against his will, dealing death to others that were unlucky enough to cross his path. Most of those folks were corrupt powerful bastards or underhanded lazy ones. Some were like Johns, bounty hunters with no morals, doing as bad as those they chased. A few were innocents, dealt such a raw deal by _God_, the universe, their so-called loving families, etc, etc… that they needn't suffer anymore. Being as he didn't view death as a bad thing, the reasons for them wanting it never mattered, as long as they deserved it.

He couldn't help but to wonder what happened to the people on the other side of that strange box. He could still feel the sensation of the alien thrum under his fingertips. It was wood, so whatever sliced into the hull should have come out the other side. But… he didn't remember feeling any bumps or holes. Was it possible then that it had blocked the path of those deadly bits of space debris? What was inside the crate if it had? By chance, did anyone survive? It was kind of horrid that no-one thought, hours ago, to check. Well, he was going to. If anyone had lived he'd figure something out, even if it meant going back to the bastards at the crash site and leaving the injured. Or not… Maybe it would be a mercy to just ghost 'em.

Just then he spotted movement. He froze. Now this was shocking. A fellow in dark cargo-pocket pants and a torn white tee stumbled, slipped, slid and scrambled his way slowly up the length of the crash scar. Why hadn't anyone bothered to look for survivors? What would Johns have done if he hadn't noticed his locker empty? _Bet there would have been a search party then. With armed insistence_.

The ex-ranged ducked back out of the fellow's line of sight then peered around a bit of ship to study the man. Clearly, someone had treated him for his injuries. One hand trailing about a half-meter of cable was wrapped in thick bandages. There was evidence that the job had been quite some time ago, as the wrappings are covered with yellow dust and seeping fluids. _That hand must be in very bad shape_. And Riddick guessed that the cable is attached to a release handle still caught inside the injured hand.

The broadly-built burnt man's face was covered in a sheen that indicated the use of derma-heal, but the scorching was quite ugly. Through holes in the man's shirt that look like the edges were cut away there's evidence of bandaged spots across his wide torso. Riddick notes that the man has just about the same build as he does, and with his hair burnt off his scalp, from a distance, could pass for his double. If folks ignored the bandaged hand and white tee.

The con has to make a choice, and being how he is he decides to let the charred man pass without alerting him to his position. There's nothing he can do for the bloke anyhow. Other than to put him out of his misery.

He figures Johns or Zeke-man can deal that, _without_ his help.

Once the fellow is out of sight, Riddick proceeded along with caution. If the man had received medical attention, as it seemed likely he had, then at least one other person survived. And possibly the section with the med-locker was intact someplace out here. It was not likely that the man had treated his own injuries with his hand as messed up as it looked to be. So the ex-ranger went into stealth mode as he moved from bit of ship to bit of ship, following his nose to the source of that elusive, spicy, honeyed scent.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Johns was playing road-dog for four crazy, chanting idiots and one insane petite blonde. From the incense pots to the chatter, it's like a neon sign proclaiming "**Easy Kill Here**!" They might as well slit their own throats and get it over with, at this rate. He gritted his teeth and forced his attention back to keeping an eye out for the killer that was grating on his nerves.

There are several things about this world that really, really bother him. One is the lack of direction sense. It's impossible to get lost because of the suns in the sky all the time, but there's no _pull_ telling him North here, even slightly. He knows that Imam realized this long before he did, but it is becoming rather a grating irritant, none the less. Another unnerving trait this world seems to have is the absolute resistance to footprints that the soil here displays. It's impossible to track anything here that is man-sized or smaller. This means, of course, that _Big Evil_ could have run down this exact path, just out of sight of them and they would never know. That thought sends chills across his back.

The blue star puts up a mean glare, one that is hard to see past, as it sits suspended in the air at the exact spot to be very annoying. They are walking into the light, and so there's no avoiding it. He's grateful that he remembered his cap. But it is Hot here. With a capital H. It's one of those places that could be compared to hell. What was that line again? Oh right -- '_If I owned this place and hell, I'd live in hell and rent this place out_.' It certainly fits.

One thing he is doing is keeping his shotgun out and ready. He can't figure out why Carolyn wanted to leave the ship, nor why she's forcing herself to keep up with the pace that outstrips her natural reach instead of asking for them to slow down. The daffy "rare" war-pick dwarfs her, and looks ridiculous in her hands. It's so large that she has to rest it on her shoulder. There's no way she can actually defend herself with it. If it weren't for needing to keep the shotgun out he'd take the stupid thing off her hands. And burn it.

The landscape slowly shifts from flat to rolling to hills. They are climbing. The blue sun crept up another degree in the sky. Still damn annoying, blaring glare and stifling heat right into his face. Johns can almost feel the freckles popping out on his skin as he burns right through his clothes. He doesn't dare drink, not until he's got Riddick caged someplace.

They are in the spire-topped hills now, and it's an eerie landscape. Makes him wonder what created the odd twisted shapes. Hot wind teases its way through the pillar-like forms. Riddick could be behind any one of them. Johns began to scan more fully at that thought, but the quarry is either messing with his brain or not here. He's loosin' it. Mind is going. '_God, I need a fix_,' he thinks. But there's no place he can go and no safety to indulge in so he pushes the desire aside.

Behind him the marshal hears Fry whisper, "So quiet. You get used to the sounds of the ship, then..." Her voice trails off, like she can't get enough air, even with the breather, to finish the thought out loud.

The holy man asked, "You know who Muhammad was?" Abu can see that the docking pilot is struggling with something internally. He wants and needs to help her.

It's fairly clear that Carolyn has only the vaguest of ideas about the subject, "Some prophet guy?"

Her words are echoed in the Imam's rich voice, " '_Some prophet guy_.' " He nodded. "And a city man. But he had to travel to the desert -- where there was quiet -- to hear the words of God."

"You were on a pilgrimage? To New Mecca, right?" Fry detected that perhaps the Imam is the person she can trust, someone to help her see not only her path out of her personal darkness but also through this physical crisis. But she's not had much experience with religion or God, in any form. She's not sure that God wants her soul anyhow, with what she has tried to do.

"Yes. Once in every lifetime should there be a great hajj -- a great pilgrimage. To know God, better, yes, but to know yourself, as well," the Imam tells her.

_Now that – that is just too much_. Carolyn has to force herself to breathe. She has already seen something inside herself that she wishes she hadn't seen. Something horrible. Guilt strangled her voice and made it sound odd even to her ears, "Frightening thought." She doesn't want to know herself any better. The darkness is scary enough from this distance.

Johns moved further up the path, thinking he's heard something. An odd whistling noise. A haunting moan. But it's so faint. There and gone.

Abu takes the War-pick off Carolyn's hands; "We're all on the same hajj now."

The docking pilot stands there as everyone passes her except for Ali. The boy waits for her to start walking again before he releases her hand. Her heart flutters in her chest for no reason. But the feeling just won't pass. She sucks down another hit of air and quickens her pace to catch up.

The pilgrims begin with their chanting again, mindless of their chatter. The marshal grinds his teeth in frustration. He's straining to hear over the Arabic. Then he hears the unearthly warbling and freezes as it fades to crunching of their footsteps. _What is that sound_? It slowly builds again, wafting on the sizzling breeze. "Hush," he orders, waving them to stop. Some rocks slide down the incline off to the far side of the path and he quickly moves that direction.

The three boys begin a new chant and set about throwing stones. At Fry's glance Abu tells her, "Seven Stones to keep the Devil at bay." She nods and carefully sets about following the marshal who has insisted no-one walk off alone.

Johns hears a noise behind him and brings the shotgun up before he registers that it's a woman's footsteps.

"Ah --" Carolyn freezes with the twin barrels pointed dead on at her forehead. Her heart is trying to force its way out of her throat. If he'd pulled the trigger she have died and not even realized it until she hit the dirt.

The gun lowers, and the man holding it shrugged, "Sorry."

"Well, you said '_no-one alone_,' Johns. I assume you included yourself." He nods at her and turns his attention back to the tantalizing scene he has resolved through his scope. After a moment she said, "See anything?"

"No _Riddick_." That could be good or bad, depending. Carolyn is thinking that it's good at the moment. There's a sigh from him as he stares through the lens. It is clear that he sees something but is fearful that he's very wrong about what it is. "Trees?" He's hopeful. "Trees mean water." He hands over the scope, "Tell me it's not a mirage."

She peers through the scope, and the view surely does look like trees, "No mirage."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The blue sun had reached mid-morning and was hanging in the sky, frozen. Blue stars burn hot and bright and fast before dying in a extraordinary fashion. This star has two neighbors that will eventually feed it to make that death even grander. River knows this. It's not really a sad thing. Just the way it is, is all. The Doctor has held her hand, keeping her mind on an even keel. Simon was behind them, but managing to keep up. There's something whispering in the back of her mind, like a hive of bees, waiting.

She is not scared of it, no. It doesn't like the fire and as long as some hangs suspended in the sky they are safe from it. It won't come out until the fire is gone.

The cool hand released her. River turned to look at the Doctor. This is the third time he's let his hand slip from hers, but the first time he's stopped. She's aware of a shadow -- _death, icy hot, sharp, fury_ -- on the fringes of her being. Fear fills her soul, blindingly terrible, consuming fear. She takes in a deep breath of hot air and feels the Doctor's hand back in her own, suppressing the raw need to scream.

She trusts him. Yes she does. But she can't and won't ignore what she is sensing up ahead of them. Something dangerous comes this way, and she wants to protect what she has gained thus far here on this alien world. So when the Doctor takes her hand and she can feel that he senses what she does, River plants her feet into the soil and tugs back at him with both hands, Simon's bag swaying on her arm. For a moment she is sure that he will keep walking, dragging her along. But instead he looks at her with his ageless eyes and she can see her emotions mirrored there, like he's truly hollow. She blinks. He pauses.

"River, are you feeling alright?" asks her brother. Well, no. Not really. There's a bowling ball sized lead weight in her stomach. She doesn't want Simon to put her to sleep again and she doesn't want the sharp edges to cut her. Or any of them. "Maybe we should rest a bit?" Simon tries.

"Please," she manages. Otherwise, the Doctor will pick her up over his shoulder, just because he can.

The Doctor doesn't say 'no' and he doesn't wander away when Simon finds a bit of shade and fetches out two warm bottles of water from the bag River's been carrying. He has tried in the past to offer them to the strange man and has been rebuffed. This time, though, the Doctor pulls his own bottle out of his coat pocket. Oddly, the container should have shown when it was in there and didn't. River can tell that her brother sees this but can't quite fit his brain around it.

There's a mathematical formula that explains the phenomena, and currently the part of her mind that is not overridden with black apprehension is occupied with studying it as it flows between the panes of glass in her mind. It's so very complex. Very beautiful. But layers upon layers of complex. Amazingly, she understands it. Not just theory but the practical use of it. And she knows it would take her days to reproduce the equation on paper.

She looks at the Doctor who is drinking from his bottle as he eyes the landscape. Every line of his form relayed the same deep dread she felt. Maybe she can make him feel better. She touches the equation and shifts a number with her mind. A neon green Yo-yo falls out of the Doctor's pocket. "It's all math, Simon. Numbers. Not Magic," she says to her brother, trying to explain to him what she can see.

The tense lines melt away from the dark clad figure standing apart from them, "Oi! I've been lookin' for that." The doctor scoops the toy up with a grin and brushes the dirt off. "Useful things, Yo-yo's. For that bit of help, I suppose I could cool that water for you, aye?" As both the half-empty bottle and bright green double-disk-and-string disappear back into pockets, River graces the Doctor with a smile and offers the two warm bottles to him that she snatched from her brother's hands. A moment later they are returned, after the Doctor runs his sonic screwdriver over each one. "Not too fast now," he warns. The bottles have a nice thick sheen of frost on the outside and the water is almost slushy.

Simon looks like he is dreaming, "What-?" This has been a very odd day for him, after all. From nearly dying by suffocation, to having his patient run away, to this… Yes, very, very odd.

River pokes him, "Don't be a boob. Experience calculation, science. Advanced from our own, but just the same."

Doctor Simon Tam is beginning to think that there's far more to this 'Verse then he's ever thought of. River's acceptance of the strange, nearly magical nature of what he's witnessed is both scary and reassuring. "Can you explain it then?" he asks her.

"Yes. So can the Storm."

Well, of course. It's his _technology_ after all, isn't it? He takes the bottle that is pressed up against his hot neck and shakes it. The water sloshes inside thickly. It's icy cold. He looks at the Doctor, "Thank you."

The gent winks at him, "Don't thank me yet." They still have a lot of ground to cover and a great deal to overcome. And the Doctor knows his plan might just fracture the young man's mind into shards that he can't put back together. But if it can save River, it can save them all.


	9. Part Nine Found

**A/N:**_ My goal is to try to give you all a chapter a day until it's finished, in the hopes that it keeps the Doctor quiet enough so I can sleep at night. Not that it always works… Thanks to my reviewers, Delphine Pryde, My Reflection, and ck16.  
__As for your questions… The Doctor's filtering input for River has a price, and as such River is getting inside the Doctor's brain and seeing some of his technology at work; She understands it enough to make some alterations to what he's already built but not enough to construct her own, yet. The bioraptors being sensed is River's ability, kind of like how she senses Reavers. And don't feel too bad for Simon; he's going to be dragged into understanding (and believing) even if he doesn't want it. As for Riddick's background… Let's just say that the Doctor has a job for him, if they survive this. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Nine

Found

It's not quite noon, local time. Paris noted this even as he consulted his chrono that tells him universal standard is something like 4am. He should be resting, really. At his age these marathon bursts of wakefulness really wear a body down. However, the situation is such that resting right now might be something he never wakes up from. He prides himself in being a smart fellow that does the intelligent thing. And that. at this point, is to keep his eyes open, watching for signs of danger so he can warn Zeke of them. Personal feelings aside, he does trust the bushwhacker's claim about his shooting ability.

So he's taken on the job of being the lookout. No sense in not being comfortable though. So he'd set up a 'lookout' station atop the hull, with a chair, a misting umbrella, a battery operated fan, some of his smaller, lighter tables with a spread of his snacks and a little cooler to keep his spirits at the perfect temperature. Sherry, he finds, works wonders at cooling the air here. If someone makes too big a fuss he's got other umbrellas that work the same. He can share. Just not his caviar and toast points.

Below him a sled scraped by. It's Zeke. He and the dusty skinned man don't get along. But he did offer a mister in exchange for the breather, fair is fair after all. Zeke had accepted the little gem eagerly enough and then had turned and given it to his mate. Well, it was his choice to give that little comfort away and Paris is not going to feel guilty about the man working in the hard sun.

"Comfy up there?" the bushwhacker asks as he moves into view. It's a fine piece of handy-work, that sled, Paris has to admit. It's loaded down with everything the other man needs to set up a dig site for the graves. There's tarp, cable, rods, digging tools, and a misting umbrella (including a case of sherry, he notes). Well fine, he can use it. Rather not have to drag the other man back to the ship after he's passed out anyhow.

"Are you sure you don't want a hat? I've got a selection here that would shade your face."

Zeke scowled up at him, "Don't need your bloody fairy hats, man. What I do need is you staying alert, 'cuz if you ain't, Shazza can sit there while you nap."

"I'm perfectly awake, thank you. It's amazing how you can do without the essentials of life -- so long as you have the luxuries," he tosses back at the man. "Besides, your woman is over at the cargo bay, scavenging."

The dark man's face becomes even darker. "My 'woman' has more class in her little pinky then you've got in a thousand of those cargo crates. An' I trust her judgment far more than I trust yours. Keep your bloody-fuckin' eyes _open_. Don't want that ratbag sneakin' up on me bloody-fuckin' arse."

This is the seventh or eighth time they have clashed since the others set out to find water. Paris rolls his eyes at the man's back and comments, "You dig the graves, old boy, and I'll hold down the fort," as Zeke drags the sled toward the spired hills. The spot the bushwhacker has chosen made a gap in the defenses. Paris had argued against going that far away, and against leaving the gap open. Zeke didn't want the bodies buried that close to the ship. As if there are animals here that will dig them up or be attracted to the blood? Not likely. There aren't even insects here.

And actually, Zeke shouldn't be out there alone, either. But Johns isn't here, and Shazza has the boy, Jack, with her. And there is no way he's going to hang out with the bodies. Zeke has the gun, Paris has got a bullhorn, and there'll be plenty of warning if he spots something. And it's far more likely he'll spot something from up here than at the bushwhacker's side.

Keeping one eye on Zeke, Paris eases back into his antique chair, lays the war-pick across his lap, pours himself a spot of sherry. Lighting a cigar, he reaches for his snack and eats. The heat makes everything dry like dust. But he doesn't make a face. Instead he reaches for his glass; drinks to clear his throat and settles back again. He scans the horizon. There's nothing out there. And really, he doesn't expect there to be.

He relaxes with a sigh. The killer is long gone, likely eating bodies up the crash scar or something equally morbid. He raises his glass to his lips again. _A __bladed edge settled against his throat._ To his credit, he freezes and does_ not_ drop the glass.

The voice in his ear is one he doesn't know; "He'd probably get you right here, right under the jaw." It's a soft, deadly whisper. "And you'd never hear him coming." Wait, he does know that voice… It is Jack he realizes with an alarmed certainty, "Because,_ that_'s how good Riddick is," the boy finishes.

With his heart in climbing out of his chest, Paris eases the hunting boomerang away. Bloody fine little prank. Now where is the child's keeper? He can hear her below, scrounging about in the main part of the hull. "Boy! That was stupid and dangerous." He turned to look at the child; "Then again, you are the reckless one, aren't you? I keep wondering: did you run away from your parents? Or did_ they_ run away from you?"

"Bite me, you ol' geezer." Jack sneers, "_Hwoon dahn,_ " the boy spits at his feet, just missing his fine leather shoes, "Riddick's gonna end you, you _liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh bun ur-tze_!"

The art dealer's ears glow red from the insult. His mother, rest her soul, was not a slobbering streetwalker. She might have been lower classed, but at least she lived on a core world. Which is more than he can say for most of the survivors he finds himself among now. Furthermore, his father was rather well-to-do. It's a point aside that they never married. And he's not stupid. He's got a degree in business and antiquities, thank you _very_ much. But the words hit rather close to home, none the less. "I'm going to wash that foul mouth out with soap, you little shit!" However, before Paris can scramble, moving the war-pick off his lap and gaining his feet in an attempt to grab the offending brat, the boy has gone.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It was near, oh so close. The scent was strong here, flowing on the heated air without direction. That was a major frustration. The closer he got to the source of it, the less sure he was of the direction it was coming from. He knew he hadn't passed the cause though. He's sure he would have known if that were the case. Riddick finds himself forced to use his other senses, then, to find his way.

His sight is washed out with the fierce light even with the goggles. It's not quite painful, but damn uncomfortable all the same. His touch is consumed with the raw heat of the place. Hellish fire burns along his nerve endings, dancing up and down his skin; and for a man whose spent so much time in slam, or in space, or asleep, it's not something he's used to experiencing. The shade brings only slight temporary relief. Taste won't help here. Smell is already taxed to the limit. That leaves him with his hearing.

He shuts his eyes and zones in his ears. Difficult but not impossible. He's been trained to do this, because sometimes it was necessary in his pre-jailbird line of work. There's a very high-pitched whine, almost out of range of his sensitive hearing, up ahead and just off to the left. He guesses that it is either very loud and distant or, more likely, soft and fairly close. Within a few dozen meters.

The sound stops and he can hear a faint voice, speaking in a language he's totally unfamiliar with. It's a male voice, that much he's sure of. But the words are lost to him, a series of three sounds that might be syllables of a single word or an entire sentence. Not a language he'd call human. It's oddly musical, and Riddick's mind immediately connects the _scent_ to it. He felt curiosity bubble to the surface.

It's the most risky thing he could do, following that impulse. But then, the ex-ranger has never lived a quiet life. He sneaks closer, darting from one camouflage point to another. Intent on the shadows cut into the harsh light and the sort of known possible location he isn't fully aware of his surroundings. It's a blunder that might cost him, eventually.

When he looks up finally, seeking another closer bit of shadow he finds himself face to little-metal-cylinder with someone that pings off his instincts as being very, _very_ dangerous. Alien deadly. Inhuman. Unforgiving.

The honey-spice-musk scent rolls over him like a wave. He freezes, eyes seeing only the being in front of him. A being who is cool enough to suck his vision to a dark indigo in contrast to the heat here. And his little light-tipped pen-sized gizmo.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The climbing was getting harsh, but the tantalizing branches are just beyond the next rise. It's no surprise that the three children break into grateful shouts of, "Allahu Akbar... Allahu Akbar..." as they break into an excited run, anticipating an oasis. But Fry hangs back, taking a harder look at the trees. They don't move in the wind. Reaching the top the pilgrims become stature-like still. The feeling of dread builds in Carolyn's gut, sinking right to her core. But she pushes it aside and keeps up with the marshal and Imam.

They finally clear the top and look out to see something they hadn't, in their greatest nightmares, ever expected to see. The "trees" were dorsal bones of a titanic skeleton, tinted green by lichen. Beyond, as far as the eye can see are tumbled sun-bleached bones of all shapes and sizes. There's not a speck of flesh on a single one. And now they can all hear that unnatural whistling howl that seems agonized as it wafts on the dense air. It's horrible, and shocking, and all that is missing from the scene is hell-fire and brimstone falling from the sky.

Carolyn swallows, "Is this whole planet dead?"

Beside her Arabic babbles. She blinks and looks at Ali, who has tugged on her sleeve and wears a questing look. Abu provides translation, "He asks what could have killed so many great things -- " She has no clue, no answer to give, and thus just takes the boy's hand and gives him a reassuring squeeze.

Johns makes a grunt and sets off down the hill. They still need to find water. Imam sets off behind him and Carolyn follows along with the boys. Abu says, "Some... communal graveyard, perhaps... like the elephants of Earth..."

Ali lets go of her hand, venturing off with his brothers. Fry trails her fingers over one of the giant bones. She can see and feel cut-marks -- like something took a blade to it. She wonders, '_Graveyard? Or killing field?' _Whichever it is the entire thing is spooky.

"Long time ago. Whatever happened," Johns said.

Hassan and his brothers have begun to explore, and in such a place it's easy to forget the admonishment to stay together. He slips inside a colossal skull, his ears following the sounds that float through the bones. There's baleen-like combing across part of the skull's structure. This makes the deep harmonic sound as the wind caresses over it. He waves his hand over the comb, brushing his fingers across the gaps, and changing the pitch and tone. With a laugh he begins to play a dirge-like 'music.' He calls to his brothers, looking around.

Meanwhile Johns has noticed the three boys are split up. He rounds up Ali and thrust him toward Suleiman. Then he spots the missing boy playing inside the skull, "Outta here! This ain't no playground! Get back to the others before you get your throat slit," Riddick could be anywhere. The idea of that forces the marshal to do a complete search.

As Hassan pops out of the skull Fry pauses, keeping pace with Johns so that he's not alone. While she is waiting for him to finish up his sweep she changes out the oxygen tank on her breather.

Abu scolds the three youngsters in Arabic off to the other side of the skeleton Johns is searching before turning them loose to look around again.

The redhead finishes his inspection, coming up with nothing, not even a gut instinct. He frowns and doubles back to Fry shaking his head. Big Evil is not here. Pulling a bottle out of his backpack, he takes a hit of warm scotch, before offering her some. She looks at the bottle, "Makes it worse, you know? Dehydrates you even more."

"Is that right?" He keeps the bottle held out to her and she finally takes it and pulls a swig of the stuff. It burns a path down to her gut and she steps into the shade afforded by one of the bones, slowly leaning back against it as she hands the bottle back. "You know, I woulda played road dog for these guys. You could've stayed back. Pro'bly should've -- because, you know, if we _don't_ find water..."

She cuts him off with a look. He drinks deep. Yeah, she knows. The liquor won't help forever. If they don't get lucky soon they won't make it back to the others. But that's all right, really. She doesn't much feel like she should've survived anyhow, "No, no, I wanted to get away."

This is bad, Johns realizes. Something is eating her up inside and it's going to drag them all down, "So I noticed. Never seen a 'captain' quite so ready to leave her ship."

"Cut the shit, Johns. You know I'm not the captain." She snags the bottle from him and drinks like she can drown herself in it. He takes the bottle from her with a frown. She pulls further away.

"Yeah, but the others, they think so. They need you to be."

She refused to look at him, hating the truth of his words. "Better keep moving…" Carolyn mumbles as she readies herself to step back into the punishing heat.

But Johns is not finished yet, "So, what'd Owens mean? 'Bout not touching the switch?" He can see her crumple, inside. '_Come on, girl. Trust in me, huh_?' He begs. Johns knows he has her when she leans back again on the bone and looks off into the distance. "Hey. You can tell me, Carolyn."

God she wants to. But she isn't sure, "Promise me. Swear to me you won't -- "

"You see anybody else here? Just between you and me."

Her resolve was already half gone from her talk with Imam on the way here about his hajj. The liquor battering away alongside her guilt finishes it when he seems so earnest. It comes spilling out like a flood gate let loose, "During the landing -- when things were at their worst -- Owens was at his best. He's the one who wouldn't let the pilot dump the passenger cabin."

Johns blinks, stunned. '_Are you shittin' me?' _But he plasters a forgiving expression on his face and put his cap on her head. He'll play chummy with her now, for a bit. "Fuck. Guess I'm more glad to be here than I thought."

She smiles at him, relieved. He tosses the bottle away and swings an arm over her shoulder to guide her out of the boneyard. Once the scouting party reaches a cleft in the hills, he calls a stop, "Hold up." The canyon ahead is not what he's interested in though. The marshal clambers up onto a good vantagepoint and puts the scope to use scanning behind them. "Didn't bite." He can see that the trap has not been sprung. Meaning that his guess was wrong, and he has no clue as to where his bounty has gone. He just hopes that everyone back at the crash site is alive when they get back. If they get back.

Carolyn is just below him, "What?"

Johns slips back down to her and the others, "Big Evil. Thought he might be coolin' it in the boneyard -- could either double-back to the ship or slip in behind us. So I left the bottle out as bait. But nah. Didn't bite."


	10. Part Ten Allies

**A/N:**_ Thanks to my reviewers, Nighthowler, My Reflection and ck16.__  
Yes, just a bit tricky, I'd say… I've got a reason for everything and everything a reason. The Doctor doesn't get to see the impact of his previous lives much, you know? But I'd wager that those little changes lead to huge ripples.__  
It's been questioned as to when things were going to get nasty. Oh… well, pretty soon I'd say. There are folks that the Doctor just can't be there to save after all. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Ten

Allies

His superior senses had, of course, alerted him to the stealthy approach even without the _darkness_ attached to it. While River's response to the overwhelming inhumanity of the animalistic creature creeping their way was understandable, he didn't think his ears would enjoy hearing her scream. And it would have been a marvelous example of a banshee wail, had he not stopped it. Would have woken the dead. Considering their surroundings at the moment that might not have been good either. He'd been debating with himself over exactly how to deal with this little impending encounter ever since he first brushed mental contact with the uniquely desolate mind out there.

Simon's suggestion that they rest put him in a better position, really. He could reel the other male in and deal with him on his own terms. There was something about the savage nature of this fellow that reminded the Doctor strongly of Leela, whom he missed a great deal. His leather clad and always-armed companion had been a bit chancy at times, but her ceaselessly unique outlook provided him with insights and often times an edge that he would have lacked without her. He could admit that there were indeed circumstances where violence and even death had its place, now that he was older and wiser and perhaps just a bit less idealistic. War really could change a soul. He'd fought two major ones in the span of one lifetime and imagined that his younger selves wouldn't recognize him now he was so altered. But back to the situation at hand.

This individual approaching was both more amoral and smarter than Leela. And the Doctor suspected more jaded. While this male's nature was just as savage, his bestial temperament was more evolved and carved with experience than Leela's had been, until almost the end of the War. Only after she had lost just about everything, had the then Lady Andred Redguard become so dark. He pushed aside the swell of agony at the thought and forced his attention back to the moment. While the comparisons set him in the right mind frame to cope with the individual, the situation would have to be treated with care. He allowed River to gently poke about in part of his psyche to distract her and pondered exactly how to deal with the upcoming rendezvous.

Using his sonic screwdriver to cool the water bottles, perhaps just a shy bit too much, he went from winking at Simon and his plans for the lad to striding across the small area of clear soil. He knew exactly where the other man was going to appear, because he could feel him, like the man had laid down a timed path that he was locked into following. Odd that, the Doctor reflected as he stepped into the pulsing but invisible line.

The muscled form was hard to miss, all told. He wore black, from his eyewear to his combat boots. Only the silver coils of cable stood apart as though they didn't really belong on the fellow. As he emerged from the shadow cast by a piece of the ruined ship, intent only on his next bit of cover, the Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver like it was a weapon. His entire body seemed to issue a non-verbal challenge to the 'Verse in general, from the planted stance of his feet to the tilt of his head.

Behind him River went into a protective crouch in front of her brother. It was only her trust that the Doctor knew what he was doing that kept her quiet. Simon was, of course, startled by the sudden change in both of them, but there was no time to explain it. Not that the Doctor wanted any less to just rip the boy's preconceived notions right out of his head and stomp on them. The brilliance that resided in doctor Tam's head was nearly smothered by years of conditioning that the lad had been exposed to so that he would become the new head of the Tam clan while remaining 'proper.' Part of the Doctor's mind resolved, '_That has to go_,' even as the rest of him stood at the ready, waiting.

The figure took three steps before seeing the obstruction that the Doctor made in his path. A flash of silver in one hand shows that the goggled man is armed with a hand-made blade that is fitted to his fingers like an extension of his limb and not something created on the fly from a bit of spare salvage. Leela carried her blade and Janus Thorns that way, the Doctor knows.

This could be very deadly.

They stand as opponents, both ready for violence, and neither sure of taking the win. It is almost assured that the man will either fight or flee unless the Doctor can talk him down. And in spite the overwhelming 'danger' sensation that is near the reaches of the Time Lord's endurance to stand, there's nothing in the weapon he's facing to take apart aside from the delicate physical systems of the body he's confronting. And the Doctor would rather not injure the man, regardless.

The black clad individual is just an inch shorter than the Time Lord's current form, broadly muscular yet sleek. His bronzed shoulders are reddened from the sun beating down on them. They are both standing at the ready, one coiled but fluid; the other statue-like but sure that only the smallest of movements will be necessary. Both are waiting for the other to break. But the Doctor knows that Simon is more likely to snap before either one of them will, and he's unsure of how River will react if her brother becomes involved in this.

Lowering his sonic screwdriver into a less threatening position, the doctor cocks his head, much as he might when encountering a powerful, violent, but intelligent new species. While this person looks human, it is very clear that he doesn't think like one, entirely. It is also clear that his mind is resistant to the Doctor's (or rather his TARDIS's) innate translations of one language into another, after the Doctor says, "We are not a threat," and gets confusion as a response. '_Right, fantastic. Haven't run across this problem in years. I just hope my accent isn't too horrible,_' the Doctor mentally rants.

He tries again, switching physically to other languages, and finally after attempting several other human tongues discovers that the man understands Chinese when he nods to "_Dong ma_?" But Chinese is not the Doctor's favored language, so he takes a guess and says in English, "And this?" The other man nods again. "We are not a threat," the Doctor repeats in quaintly accented English. Now, of course, Simon is confused again because he understood every word out of the Doctor's mouth and only heard English and Chinese. And the Doctor can, on reflection, discern why the odd string of 'how about this one?' and 'anything yet?' and 'do you understand' might seem bizarre from _that_ vantagepoint.

The self-crafted cutting edge wavers a bit. "I imagine that this heat is making you quite dry," the doctor slips his screwdriver away, and pulls out the bottle of water again. "How about a trade?" he forces his body language into 'soothing and reasonable.' The other man's stance relaxes slightly. That's a good sign. He shows the bottle, shaking it a bit to illustrate that it is mostly full, "That fine blade of yours for my water?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Zeke had set up the tarp to provide shade and the mister unit scrapped out of the umbrella is attached to the edge where the wind will blow the cooled, moister air his way. He's tossed the ruined scrap of painted paper and bamboo where Paris can't see it. The grave is about the right size to hold a body and a half, so he's about half way done.

More important to him is the safety of his mate and their 'adopted' kid. But he's been roped into this, and there are three corpses needing to be set to rest. It's the least he can do for the woman who has saved their lives and taken on the responsibility for keeping them so. He can't begin how he'd feel in her place, loosing people that he'd called family due to familiarity. Working on a ship like the _Hunter-Gratzner_ tends to forge those kinds of bonds no matter what a body does to avoid them.

He pauses and scans the horizon, the crash, and the hills. Then he looks again toward his personal 'Verse. The green-eyed woman waves at him. He smiles. They're gonna be all right. He waves back at Shazza before returning to his task.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The canyon, Carolyn noted, is becoming narrower the farther they travel down it. There are huge rib bones hugging the walls and high above her head she can make out additional spires standing like sentinels along the top. She is both curious and filled with dread by the unusual shapes. '_What are they? Just mineral deposits?' _she wonders.

Suleiman begins to chatter, in English this time, "Captain...captain..."

Little Ali is crouched down in front of them, fingers digging in the soil. Under his hands a toy robot, red in color with a solar powered cap, comes into view. Delighted, he pries the toy from the yellow soil and shakes it off.

The holy man seems very relieved; "We are not alone here, yes?"

Nearly everyone looks toward the final rise of the canyon, all but Johns. He tightened his jaw as he scans behind him, wondering if this is another one of Riddick's sick games, "Never thought we were."

"Come on Johns, you yourself said he's not here," Carolyn said as she caught Ali's hand and began leading them up what she hopes is the last rise.

With a sigh, Johns pulls up the rear. He can hear creaking up ahead and prays that it's not another one of those hellish scenes. He's seen enough of those already today.

Suleiman begins to call as soon as he realizes that what he's seeing is a human settlement, "Assalamoo ahlaykum!" The voice echoes through the empty lanes and buildings. Stacked shipping containers clutter the scene. Tattered sun-shades flap in the hot breeze with misting units still attached to their edges. They pass a rusty bike laying carelessly in the dirt road.

Hassan joins his brother in the greeting, "Assalamoo ahlaykum!"

Johns picks up a discarded metallic canteen and shakes it. The container rattles like the lining is busted, "Long gone. Whoever they were. Don't think anyone is here to answer your scarf-head." He tossed the useless container back to the ground.

Abu stops and looks at one of the awnings and the dried up hanging plants attached to it. Drip units run from the top of the structure down to each pot. He plucks one out and peers at it. "Water... water was here..." Now just to find the source of it. As a unit, they moved around a building passing a sandcat in its hanger, crossing what seems to be the main square of the settlement, and into what might have been a more industrial area. Bits of machinery are scattered about, but one makes the Imam very happy. He pushes a large section of mobile drill to reveal a moisture-recovery unit. It's a hulking machine in great disrepair. Old jugs litter the ground. "This is the source of the water."

His pilgrims all chant, "Allahu Akbar..." in unison but not quite together.

The Imam gives Johns and Fry his knowing smile, " 'God is Great,' yes?"

The marshal is relieved enough to concede the point, "I'm born-again." He doesn't really mean it but it shuts the holy quintet up. Besides him Carolyn smiles. "Looks like it needs some work. Why don't you look for a tool kit and Imam and I can figure out what needs repair, huh?"

"Alone?" She inquires.

"Yeah, Riddick must have taken another route. Maybe he followed the crash scar looking for easier targets? Who knows. The animal is impossible to figure sometimes."

Fry figures then that it's safe enough to do as he asks and sets off to locate some tools. Her exploration leaves her wondering, '_Who were these people? Why did they leave so much behind?_' It's impossible to ignore the cafeteria style table set for dinner with years of yellow dust coating it, or the photos of families working in their hanging gardens, playing sports, and posed with their children. She moves back outside, still searching for the tools the others need to make the repairs.

Her search prompts her to enter a dark room. "Lights." Nothing happens. "Lights On?" Still nothing. She fumbles along the wall near the door looking for old-style wall switches and comes up blank. She peers into the darkness waiting for her eyes to adjust and notices black-out blinds on a window. Carolyn moves over to fling them open and finds Johns standing on the other side.

"Find anything?" she shakes her head. "Okay. Keep looking, yeah? And don't go too far." Fry nods. Johns smiles and walks back to the others. Just as her heart settles, she hears a creak behind her.

She turns to see the source of the noise is an orrery, a mechanical device that shows the motion of the planets around their suns. This one shows this system and seems to be solar powered like most everything else she's seen here. The orrery starts turning with sounds that make her think it needs to be oiled. One planet seems always bathed sunlight. And Carolyn can guess which of the worlds they have crashed on. She reaches out and spins the smallish yellow orb, "No darkness. No lights because no darkness..."

Stunned by this revelation, the docking pilot wanders out a side door and onto a cement porch. There's laundry hanging on a line, stained dusty yellow, tattered and torn, from years of neglect. She sighs. This is quite depressing, all told. And she still hasn't found any tools. She takes a step, a half turn and something flashes in her face. Freezing Carolyn squints into the mid-afternoon blue tinged light, trying to catch where the glint has come from. The clothes on the line flutter, and she sees it again. She whoops for joy before screaming, "Hello, New MECCA!" as she dashes off toward the find, too gleeful to mind the marshal's cap as it flies off her head.

Johns looks at Abu then scrambles to his feet. Whatever could Carolyn have found to cause this reaction?

Fry comes to a stop. There's a runway, and a hanger, and – she is too stunned for a moment to even comprehend what it is she's seeing. It's more than she could have hoped for. Sitting on the parking area of the runway is a _skiff_. It's fairly lightweight as spaceworthy vehicles go, and an older model. Smaller then she would have wanted in ideal conditions, but she can't be choosy here. While it's a multi-duty hybrid, not meant for jumping from star to star, it just might get them into the shipping lane. They just need to make repairs to the wings and get it powered up. If she can do that then she'll worry about the hull and how they are going to fit ten people on a six-seat shuttle.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He'd started to eat just to stay awake. How long would it take Zeke to finish up with the graves anyhow? As soon as the traps guarding their outer edge were closed up he was going to take a siesta. He spooned a bit of expensive caviar onto some nearly equally costly toasted flatbread with a sigh. Paris carefully lifts the delicate edible to his mouth, which is watering now in anticipation because he's figured out to keep the open tin in the cooler until he wants to actually eat some.

There is a sound behind him, like scratching and scraping. He pauses. If it is that little imp playing games again he's going tan the boy's hide. He silently eases out of his seat and sneaks over the edge where the noise is coming from hoping to nail the brat at it. He catches sight of a shadow darting closer to the hull, below his line of sight. Tiny grains of soil and rocks are still moving from their displacement by whomever was climbing about on the incline created by the fact that the ship is half buried at this end. "This now qualifies as the worst fun I've ever had. _Stop it_."

He gets no response. That is not like Jack. Paris snatches up his weapon and scrambles to the ground, first checking the perimeter, then inside the main hull. Shazza must be back over at the cargo storage again, because there is no one around. '_It must be the boy. It had better be_.' Oh, he sure hopes it is… he thinks as he marches off to find Shazza. "Jack? Is that you, child? Are you hungry, or something? Jack?"

"_What?_" comes the boy's voice echoing from inside the cargo bay. Damn, that child has very sharp hearing. And there's no possible way anyone could have covered the ground from the ship to the cargo bay in such a short time, is there?

He reaches the door and scrambles up with a huff. Near the far end he sees the dark headed woman and the bane of his existence searching through an open cargo hold. Owens' key is still in the lock. Pinpricks of light slash into the hallway making it plenty easy to see that Jack is quite loaded down with stuff that he's holding for Shazza, "Tell me that was you," Paris orders.

Jack is game, "Okay, it was me. What'd I do now?"

The art dealer looks at the boy, "Assailing my fragile sense of security, that's what."

"What're you goin' on about? The lad's been right here for the last..." but Shazza cuts herself short when the light filtering in from outside created by the late afternoon sun blinks once, twice… Something or rather _someone_ is moving outside. "Zeke?" she calls. Jack quickly places his armload on the floor and silent as a cat springs over to a pinhole so he can peer out as there's no response to Shazza's call. He can see Zeke in the distance just finishing up laying the last of the bodies into the grave. The bushwhacker turns and begins heading back toward the ship.

Then he spots muscled legs clad in black cargo pants… He turns and mouths silently, "_RIDDICK_!"

For all his bravado, this causes Paris to almost sink to the ground. Instead he leans back as his legs threaten to go. Shazza flashes him a frown and takes his weapon. She gracefully moves to the main door and poises there, waiting and ready to defend them. Jack is just behind her, boomerang in hand, willing to fight if necessary.

All the art dealer can do is watch, frozen and panicked as the light beams wink off then on as the form outside moves closer to the door.

A black clad leg appears.

Shazza swings hard, meaning to do serious damage.

"No!" Jack cries out, causing her to come up short.

It's not Riddick. This man is burnt, dressed in a tattered and stained white tee. His left hand is heavily swathed in dirt crusted bandages and trailing a cable. Shazza stopped one inch short of killing him.

"My God – There are others… Back there. Don't know how many, but we – we thought we were the only ones who --" He stumbles forward, then begins to fall. Shazza lets out a gasp as thick red goo splattered across her face and chest. It's only later that she hears the sound of the gun.

Behind him is Zeke, too far away to have heard what the man was saying, with the gun raised still at where the man's head had been. He reads Shazza's horrified face -- and understands what he's done.

"Oh, Lord..." It's all Paris can manage to say. He thinks he might throw up.

But Jack turns on Zeke with anger fit to fry the bushwhacker's balls; "It was just somebody else. From the crash. Another survivor, like us. And there's more of them! How many of the those stuck in lockers might have been alive last night!"

"Cripes galore, I thought it was him. I thought it was Riddick!" Zeke says. He's too stunned to realize that there might be others out there still in even worse shape.


	11. Part Eleven Hunger

**A/N:**_ Thanks to my reviewer, My Reflection. __Um…Zeke, well… No Doctor to save 'um? Won't be the only one? Do you really want to know? Better read the chapter…_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign.

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Eleven

Hunger

There had been tools in the hanger for almost any job one could imagine. Delighted with the find, Abu and Hassan had gathered up several boxes of tools and parts before heading back to the moisture recovery unit. They were still there, trying to get the water to start flowing again.

Fry and Johns were over at the runway. First they searched the hanger, then they looked over the skiff. The seals on the door were still good, and the process of easing them open had taken time. The marshal had located the codes inside the hanger's lock box but Carolyn ended up using a manual override. Once she got a look inside she could tell why. The little craft was a one-use-only deal. The cheap kind of company provided boats meant for company run risky jobs. That left more questions than she wanted to deal with.

This type of craft should have had a seal on the fuel source that was only removed right before use. But for some reason the ship's safety had been removed, and then it had not been used. Fry feared that the fuel had leaked out into the air over the intervening years and that the cheap construction of the craft would make it impossible to retrofit even if they had access to all the parts they would need. Although – the systems of the _Hunter-Gratzner_ that were intact would go a long way to correcting that.

It just might take her years to make the switchover, was all. She glanced out and noticed that the yellow and red stars that should be rising soon were nowhere in sight, while the blue star was heading steadily for sunset. "Hey, Johns… Shouldn't there be another sunrise, like really soon?"

The redhead was pacing outside the ramp, his footsteps providing an even crunch, crunch tempo. His voice came from the right side of the skiff, "There's gonna be an hour or so of twilight I figure, with the blue sun down before the yellow one rises. Then the red one should come up about a quarter past that. Why?"

"No real reason, I just thought that since all three were up at last sunset they'd be up again this one."

He scoffs, "Do the math, Carolyn. 360 degrees makes a circle. 180 for the sky, right? On average, when there's a flat horizon. Suns at last sunset were 155-160 degrees apart, I'd guess. So that means 200 degrees or so to make that circle… Thus the twilight."

"Oh. I guess you are right there." Carolyn catches his eye as he passes again, "No juice, looks like it's been laid up for years." She stands and brushes her hands off. The yellow dust is everywhere. "But we might be able to adapt the electrical -- "

Johns freezes, head cocked like he's hearing something in the distance, "Shut up." Fry snaps her mouth shut and waits. He scopes out the wind, then frowns, "Sorry. Thought I heard something."

That is ominous, "Like what?"

"Like my pistola," he sets off back towards the crash site, not waiting for anyone else. Fry curses and shouts for Imam and the others to either stay here or follow, but to keep together in any case and breaks into a jog to catch up with the marshal's longer pace.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

There was the possibility that he'd lost his mind in the crash. Oh yes there was. He was currently looking at an impossible thing, a bottle of water, being offered up for his weapon. It was, in slam terms, a more than fair deal. He could make another blade easily. The ex-ranger found himself flipping the shiv in his hand so that the non-sharpened side of it was extended toward the other creature, which he refused to think of as a man, and was somewhat surprised to feel the cool fingers against his own as the exchange took place.

By all the stars in space, he was thirsty. And somehow or another the container was cool. Riddick carefully popped the lid on the bottle and raised it up to his nose. Over the faint piquant luscious aroma that clung to the surface he could tell it was just plain water inside. He took a small sip. Fresh, sweet, and cool liquid rolled into his mouth. The water seemed to ease his raw throat far beyond what water should do. It was like a slice of heaven.

"Better there?" that alien voice questioned. The musical quality was still present, and along with the intoxicating scent, Richard B. Riddick was quite sure he was addicted. Odd that. He nodded, still tasting the honey and cloves on his tongue from the water. It would have to be enough, because he _wasn't_ going to allow himself to hunger for that scent and now, taste. No, he wasn't. "Fantastic," the voice continued. "River? Simon? I do believe it's safe enough, now."

The movement from the other side of the taller form drew the ex-ranger's goggled gaze that direction. Damn. There had been two others right there and he had never even seen them. But then, he was guessing that the alien might have shielded them somehow. Unless the bloke was actually one of those Liquidators from Blue Sun. He'd seen the work those folks left behind and heard rumors that they used a little metal cylinder device in their elimination work. But he'd never met one before, and besides they were to have worked in pairs, weren't they?

He shoved aside the notion. Couldn't be one of them. He doubted he'd be alive still if that were the case. He concentrated on the other two with the alien then. Human. Normal. Smaller than average, both in height and weight. Perhaps immature, teenaged maybe. Or Asian stock. One was clearly a girl, the other a boy. The boy looked a year or two older. And from what Riddick could tell they might have been twins aside from the clear fact that the girl _was_ younger. They had the same bone structure, the same shape and build, the same hair and skin texture, or as close as two people of opposite genders could get at least. He wondered how much their parents had paid for the perfection of their children, and how many orphans that fee might have freed from the company's clutches.

Damn rich weirdoes. But he couldn't blame the kids could he? The boy had to be 'Simon'. That would make the girl 'River'. But who was the bloke that he'd given his shiv to? "Looks like you have a severe case of sunburn," the boy was saying. Riddick gave him an odd expression, prompting the lad to continue, "On your shoulders. I've got some spray that will treat it and keep it from reburning."

Riddick shrugged, "Sure." He was not one to pass up medical attention when offered. And clearly the boy, Simon, was a medical professional of the highest caliber upon a second look. For his age, that was surprising. Maybe these kids were not so normal after all. "I don't have a way to pay you."

Simon blinked, "Pay isn't the objective here. We've crashed on an alien planet. I'd think survival trumps money, don't you?" He removed the spray in question from his bag and showed it to the man before approaching him under the Doctor's watchful eye. If not for the indication he received from the Doctor to proceed with the application of the spray himself, Simon might have offered to let the other man handle his own shoulders. That would look bad, unprofessional, and mostly weak, so Simon swallowed his terror and went to work on healing the man's severe sunburn. After a moment he looked at the Doctor, "Would you please unlock these metal coils so I can treat his wrists?"

The Time Lord grinned, "Oi, I do believe the man has a name."

"Besides the point, at the moment, Doctor. The cuffs?" Simon retorted.

"It's Riddick, thanks," the bronze skinned man stated, holding up his arms and wondering how the 'Doctor' was going to get the cuffs off. The girl stood back; slightly behind the leather clad fellow, with one hand caught on the edge of his pocket, watching silently the entire exchange. The little metal tube with the lit tip reappeared in the fellow's hand. Richard had to force himself to not flinch from the thing and the Doctor fiddled with it and depressed something under his finger. First one lock then the other click open and the metal bindings fall away to the ground. _That was pretty cool. Didn't even need a hacksaw._

"Those were way too tight. Are your hands tingling?" Simon inquired

"Slightly, but no worse than other times. You get used to it." He found the boy applying cream and bandages to the raw skin of his wrists with a great deal of gentleness. He looked from the elegant fingers professionally finishing up with their tending to the alien's eyes. And he knew if he hurt these two this 'Doctor' bloke would kill him, slowly and more painfully than he would ever dare imagine. He gave the man a nod of understanding.

"So did you by any chance spot a gentleman wearing a white undershirt and dark pants, suffering extensive burns, passing this way?"

"Your patient?" Riddick watches Simon nod, "Yeah, passed 'em couple of hours past noon. He seemed to be doing all right, and very intent on getting to the main bulk of the crash. Don't know how the other survivors are gonna deal with 'em though."

Just then the girl let off a howl to wake the dead and took off in a run down the crash scar. '_Nope, not normal_,' Riddick finds himself thinking as he sprints alongside the Doctor and Simon in a bid to keep up with the rather fleet footed River.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Paris was currently resting inside the hull, with a mister and a fan turned on his face. He felt so ill. Shazza had managed to wipe away most of the gore but her top is still stained with it. She'd mentioned changing into a new shirt, but for some reason unknown had yet to do so. It might have been because there was blood on the cargo bay floor still that she just didn't want to deal with yet. He couldn't blame her.

Jack had insisted upon cleaning up the body, trying to do some respect to the dead man. And Zeke, choked on guilt, had helped the boy wipe it down, redress it, and wrap it in Vectran. Shazza seemed too stunned to move from where she crouched near enough Paris to catch some of the cooled air. The art dealer had some idea of how she felt. It was awful.

Silently Zeke and the boy carried the body of the stranger outside into the fading sunlight. It was late afternoon now, much cooler than it had been in quite awhile. The blue sun was sinking slowly to sunset and the yellow sun had yet to make an appearance. Zeke settled the corpse onto the sled; "I'll do this, Jack. It's my burden to bear. Please stay with Shazza, mate."

Without protest the golden haired child turned and headed back inside to the dark haired woman.

In spite the cooler air of the very late single sun afternoon, Zeke found this body heavier than the others. He's chugging on the oxygen like it can keep the agony of what he's done away. But it can't. He's killed the wrong man, an innocent man, by mistake. Johns had told him '_one shot if you spot him_,' and instead of listening and firing a warning shot in the air as he'd been told he shot a survivor twice in the head.

It takes him a very long time to struggle the sled across the vast distance to the gravesite. By this time the sky is bathed in post-nightfall, pre-dawn twilight. Through his blurred vision Zeke doesn't see that the tarp has been disturbed until he goes to lay a hand on the edge and finds nothing there to grip. He moves slightly closer and catches the edge, but in his haste flips it so that he's blocked from view of the ship. He picked the body up and turns to set in into the grave with the others and finds that the bodies have been disturbed and that there's an opening at the bottom of the pit that hadn't been there when he first filled it. The body closest to the new opening is half tugged into the hole.

He thinks that perhaps he should be alarmed, but bodies don't go movin' on their own and there is possibility that this is one of those 'mind-fucks' he's been warned about. If it is then he's going to shoot that bloody con for all the damn trouble he's caused.

He looks around and doesn't spot any sign of the killer. Then he jumps down into the grave and looks at the bodies closely. Tugging the one back out of the hole and out of the way he said, "Now what the bloody hell..." Shuffling the corpses to the side, Zeke clambers down onto his hands and knees for a better look. There are faint signs of something slithering into this tunnel. He picks up the digging tool he'd left there to fill in the grave and sets to making the opening larger.

He's positive that there's a burrow of some kind just down the short passage. Could be fresh meat, and they do need food. If it were a burrow then there might be some baby-what-ever-they-are here that would be an easy kill. He shimmies into the tunnel and removes a handlight from his belt to get a better look. He shines it about the cavern.

A male scream cuts through the air like a nightmare. Shazza jolts to her feet, followed by Jack. Gunshots ring out in the dense air. "Zeke!" Paris is startled awake by the sounds of their boots ringing across the metal floor as the two sprint outside. "Zeke!" calls Shazza as she sprints across the hard-pack toward the grave and it's lopsided tarp. Jack is on her heels. Just as she reaches it the yellow star flares into view accompanied by an eerie wail.

Sliding to a stop, Shazza grabbed for the tarp in the new morning sun and flung aside to find an empty, blood splattered, scrap filled, pit. So much blood. The green-eyed woman screams. She moves to jump down into the pit and Jack catches her arm, "No, Shazza! No! Please!" The bushwhacker turns, throws her arms around the boy, and begins to sob.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Johns has taken a shortcut, heading straight into the afternoon sun, a beeline back to the crash site. The path takes him through the spired hills. He barely pays attention to the faint clicking he's hearing as twilight descends on the landscape. He's chosen a fast walk, but breaks into a jog as he gets closer and can hear additional gunshots, louder now, like someone else is in these hills with him. He picks up his pace, breaking into a full run now. He hadn't realized just how far from the crash that he'd gone until he had to run back there. '_Where is it_?' keeps going through his head. There's an eerie, inhuman wail as the morning breaks. Then he hears a woman's agonized scream. It's chilling. '_Shit. That's Shazza_,' he knows. Somehow he manages to speed up even more.

He nearly falls into the gravesite as he comes around a large pillar. He can barely come to a stop in time to avoid the blood-splattered pit. Catching his balance he staggers to the side and slides down the slope to the other side of the hole where the dark headed bushwhacker is crying her eyes out. Looks like there's enough blood in the pit for five bodies. _What the hell was Zeke thinking, comin' way out here to bury the dead? Fuckin' stupid_.

Behind him Fry slides to a stop and makes an out-of-breath gagging noise. Yep, it is gristly all right. "Riddick?" she gasps out.

Johns has seen no sign of the killer, as of yet. But he's willing to pin the blame on him if at all possible. "Maybe. Let's get back inside the defense line and figure out what is happening." He moves over to the bushwhacker get her and Jack walking. "Imam and his boys?"

"Decided to stay at the settlement. Thought water was more important than chasing gunshots, I think."

"Well, let's just hope that the only one missing is Zeke."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

River led them straight to the cargo bay with its blood-splattered floor before freezing and looking off toward the spired hills. The blue sun has set about three-fourths of an hour back but the yellow sun has yet to rise. The world is shrouded in twilight. It's not exactly dark, but it is cooling fast.

"Hunger," she whispered, far away.

The Doctor caught up with her, Riddick having dropped into a walk and Simon between them. He takes her hand then half scoops her up. River is unaware of the situation.

It was Riddick's hand on the lad's collar that pulled him out of sight of the bushwhacker and kid after the gunshots rang out. Oddly, Simon didn't put up a struggle over being tugged into a safer location.

Next to them, the Doctor's arm around her waist, River went slack before a shiver shook her and big tears began to fall. She was strangely quiet about it though. '_Odd girl_.' The tears stop falling only after the morning light breaks across the sky and paints the land with a warm yellow glow.

The group of four crossing back to the main hull made Riddick tense up and drew two very curious looks from two sets of eyes that were startlingly the same, for one set belonging to an alien and all. It was Johns' presence that sparked the tension. He'd hoped when he heard the shots that the bastard had bit it. Clearly though it wasn't him with the gun.

After the other group is out of sight the Doctor looks at Riddick, "I'm going to venture that there is at least one person here who will kill you on sight, am I correct?" The con shrugs. The frown he receives makes him cringe inside.

Meanwhile Simon has pulled his medical scanner and is testing the blood scattered on the cargo bay floor, "Single individual. Male. Traces of Derma-heal and Anestaphine. – Looks like someone might have shot my patient in the head at semi-close range." He doesn't sound happy about it.

"I did warn you," Riddick rumbles.


	12. Part Twelve Caught

**A/N:** _Oh, so many questions…Well, them there blue hands might make an appearance way, way at the end. It seemed natural that Riddick might have heard about their liquefaction doohickeys and automatically think the Doctor's sonic screwdriver is one, because they look very similar at first glance. Remember, the Doctor can take River and Simon back in time, so this 22 week jump doesn't mean that none of Firefly happens here (How's that for a bone to gnaw on?).Riddick obeying? Heh. More like being path of least resistance for a lightning strike that, the feeler that comes up from the earth before a storm sends a powerful jolt back down… But yeah, he might seem to be doing some obeying there. Think Johns will have any idea about how to deal with that?Thanks to my reviewers, ck16 and My Reflection._

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. But his reasons for staying once he's made planetfall might not be so benign. 

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? Why does the Doctor's TARDIS insist on shielding a certain cryo-box? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twelve

Caught

River knows that they will be in a world of trouble if the others find them, as they are right now. He brother's elegant hands would be crushed because he helped the wrong side. The Doctor would have his fragile hold over his temper ripped away and her sanity would shatter into a million glassy shards. There's a plan around this of course, but she is not sure what the outcome of it is going to be either.

Violence swirls on the morning sun like wisps of fire looking for an outlet when there is none. It's a misplaced fury. The animal is innocent in his darkness, inhuman and frightening, but intelligent and capable of making decisions for the greater good. He's not evil, just different with different morals. He's no more evil than the buzzing things below their feet who are waiting to feed their hunger.

But the others don't know this yet. Just her and the Doctor have looked and seen inside the blackness, and she needed help to do it. It's hard to look into another element. This one is sharp and dark and solid. It can burn hot and flow or be solid and immutable. It can stand up against the sky and absorb water. It can smother fire and birth life. But most importantly it can give charge and channel to power gathered in the Storm and show it the best path… She closes her brown eyes and reaches her mind out to the raw earth, free and wild, that lurks, coiled and waiting for release.

It's only now that she realizes her brother is like air to her water. Together they can be as the Storm is. Once they find their own Earth. But before that happens he must see beyond like she can. Simon trusts her. The Doctor is trying to break her brother out of his limitations. She trusts the Doctor. This is a beneficial thing, she hopes. Right now, she is numb. It's the Doctor's doing. He's keeping such a tight muffle on her mind that she can barely feel the anger and despair and new death here. But she can feel it and it is horrible. She is glad for his interference. Without she'd be forced to sleep again, with needles, and she is so tired of sleeping.

She tugs at Simon's sleeve. His turning toward her is all she needs to throw her arms around his neck. "Didn't think you'd come. Didn't think anyone would come."

"Of course I'd come, _Mei-Mei_." His arms loosely envelop her. No matter what has been done to his sister, Simon still loves her. He's more baffled by her jumps of mental ability than ever before, but he still loves her. That will never change.

"It was forever. So alone. Hurt. Thought you'd forgot." Her voice is muffled into his neck.

Simon catches her face with his fingers and turns it up so he can look into her clouded brown eyes; "You are a dummy, if you think I could ever forget you."

Her expression clears slightly, and Simon can see his sister inside this girl still, for just an instant. He hugs her back and looks around. Riddick is near the corner of the cargo bay keeping watch. The Doctor is pacing, apparently trying to plan his next move. Simon has been informed that once it is clear he is to go with River and approach someone. He's already decided on the blonde, Carolyn Fry, if he can find her.

"Docking pilot's out, chasing the bushwhacker," Riddick says from his hiding spot.

The Doctor paused. He's been weighing options and they don't have many. He must get Johns away from the others and then plant enough questions to keep the rest of the survivors from just listening to the redhead blindly. He can see only one way to accomplish this while keeping the Tams safe, "I suppose that it is time, then. Will you trust me?"

"You wanna just walk out there and lay it on the table? Are you fuckin' nuts?"

"There are some who do say so, yes." At least the alien is refreshingly honest…

Riddick is not sure why but he finds himself nodding. Anything to make the fellow come closer, even for a moment. The Doctor walks up and pats him on the shoulder and Riddick gets not only the wave of scent that he craves but a flash of the buzz in River's head, "What the hell is that?"

"Hunger." There's a beat in which Riddick thinks he hears '_Amadak, I trust you. Can you trust me?_' but then its faded and he's looking at the alien and wondering how the fellow would _taste_, again. He wants to shake the thought out of his head. But the Doctor's order doesn't give him time.

"Now -- Run."

And he does.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Fry spotted a dark goggled figure darting out from the area of the cargo bay. She let out a cry of alarm that freezes Shazza in her tracks. Johns emerges from inside to hear, "Oh, MY GOD… There! I just saw him. He took off back toward the hills!" Carolyn is pointing and the marshal can just make out the black clad figure in the glare of the morning light.

"You, wait," he orders Shazza. "Let me catch Sir-Shiv-a-Lot first and then we'll find Zeke and the crewies. They have to be out there in the hills somewhere." This makes her put off her exploratory cave diving until he's taken care of the bigger issue. Johns gives chase.

What he doesn't realize is that Riddick is not completely stupid and wants to get caught. That's the point. The plan. A way to get River and Simon into the group safely with minimal risk to them. The ex-ranger knows that the Doctor is not going to let him take a fall for Zeke's stupidity if it can helped. That's where the trust comes in. So he gets to the hills and hides, waiting for the redhead to come into range. Once Johns is apart from the others Riddick calls out, "Hey Johns." He keeps moving surreptitiously and out of the other man's line-of sight.

"Riddick," the merc acknowledges. "Just us out here, why you playing this game?"

"Not just us, Billy. Somethin' else here you _should_ be scared of." The deep gravely voice echoes and Johns can't pinpoint where it is coming from.

"What are you on about, trash-baby?" Johns replies as he searches. "Same crap, different planet, huh?"

There's a pause of silence, "Try to _listen_ for once."

"Try putting your hands in the air and stepping out where I can see you."

The planet itself seems to sigh. Johns guesses it's his bounty being dramatic. The voice comes from what the merc thinks is behind him and to the right but once he turns it still seems to be behind him and to the right. "I'm guessing Zeke-man woke up something with his digging, Johnny-boy."

With a snarl, Johns places his back to a nice wide pillar and scans with his eyes for the other man. It's like tracking a ghost, though. He can't hear the other man move. There's not even the rustle of clothing to give the large figure away. Tracking in the wild has always been Johns' weak spot. He's much better in urban environments. He needs to keep Riddick talking though, "You, I'd bet. I always wondered how you coped in Slam with all those sweaty male bodies about."

He ignores the jab Johns makes at him and keeps tracking the marshal by his footsteps, while using stealth to stay just ahead of him. "Something woke up hungry for blood. Must have thought the bushwhacker was the appetizer. Didn't you hear _them_ when the sun came up?" He waiting for the signal that the brother and sister are safe within the camp and that the Doctor is here to bail him out before he lays his life on the line. Not that he fears death, but he wants to know that it counted for something when it happens.

"What the fuck did you do with the bodies, Riddick?" William J. Johns can't get a fix on the man's voice or location rather due to the echoes. He's getting pissed off and really is about to just start shooting pillars to flush the bastard out.

Riddick smells that the alien is in place, and can feel a reassuring whisper across his mind. He's ready. Been ready. The goggled man steps out in front of his blue-eyed-devil, "Don't you _listen_, Billy? Can't you _hear_? The whispers are all around us, waiting for blood to spill. For darkness to fall." The large bronze-skinned man can feel the clicking vibrations rising up through the soles of his feet as if the creatures know blood will fall here. He sure hopes not.

"I don't play that, so just try again. C'mon, Riddick, tell me a better lie," Johns levels the shotgun aiming to cut the ex-ranger in half with the blast.

He hears a whine off to the side. A new voice with a quaint accent says with deadly calm, "I wouldn't, if I were you, marshal. That gun of yours might just backfire in your face." Johns can catch out of the corner of his eye that the fellow is dressed in a leather jacket and black straight pants. Something silver peeks out of one largish hand. The fellow is pale with thin, short, brown hair. He's taller than Riddick by just a knuckle or so but not as broadly shouldered. The merc backs up a step to catch the newcomer in his line of blast if necessary. But he holds off on the trigger, because of a funny feeling that the gent is right about the 'backfire' part and that would be very messy.

The bronze man with the gun leveled at him is a warrior, a killer, and this could be his chance to end the man that has dogged his steps to freedom for so long that they have learned to sense one another. But he doesn't. He's keeping the Doctor in sight and his hands up to show he has no weapon. He's _trusting_ the fellow. "Listen. Can you hear it?"

For a moment, William does hear – something. A faint clicking screech seems to rise from the ground itself, echoing through the odd spires and amplifying as time passes. The redhead remembers this man in front of him as a soldier, as Richard, always pushing him to pay attention to the subtle signs around him. But the swell of noise fades as he blinks the memories away. Johns can't be sure of anything when he's facing Riddick. They have played too many games in the past and there is always the chance this is just another mind-fuck. He scowls, "I don't hear shit. Stop playing the mind-games and tell me where the bodies are and maybe I won't kill you both where you stand."

He sees the jacket-clad man raise his now empty hands up slightly, to show that he's not armed. Oddly, Riddick's been in the same position. The ex-ranger has had plenty of time to make an arsenal. Yet there's no sign of a blade anywhere. Johns narrows his eyes at the pair.

"Johns!" It's Carolyn, running up with Paris behind her, "There were more survivors. Mr. Tam and his sister just came crawling up the crash scar."

"Oh!" came the art dealer's voice in surprise as he realizes that Johns is in a rather sticky situation. "Maybe we can talk this out?"

"Shut the fuck up, Paris. When I want your opinion I'll ask for it," Johns snaps. He pulls out a backup pistol and hands it to Fry, "Check the chamber and keep the bastard in leather covered." Then he carefully pops the shotgun open and removes the shell from it. He can see right off that several of the pins are displaced. He'll have to take the weapon apart to fix it. "Let's walk back to the crash site, all nice and calm here," he says as he hands Paris the shotgun and pulls another pistol.

"Ease up, ease up Johns. Just tell me what..." Fry begins. Paris starts at the gun in his hands, even unloaded. The Doctor simply puts his hands higher in the air and adopts an innocent demeanor.

Then Shazza burst onto the scene from the other side of the bronze man and tackles him to the ground, "What'd you do with 'im? You bloody sick animal you, what'dja do with me Zeke?"

Riddick puts up a block to the blows but doesn't fight back. Simon appears on the scene and pulls the distraught woman off, "Hey, easy there. Easy." He slips her a shot and she goes limp before she can do any more damage.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Now, why did I listen to you again?" Riddick asked the other man chained to the bulkhead next to him. Missing his goggles, he won't open his eyes because of the sunlight filtering in over his head from outside, but at least he's got company.

"Come on now, it didn't go that bad."

"Not for you. You just lost your jacket to the Tam boy. I'm the one with a knot on my head the size of a walnut."

The Doctor looks over at the other man, assessing the damage with a practiced eye; "It's not that bad." Actually the knot is slightly larger than a walnut but there's no way he's going to tell the silver-eyed fellow that.

Footsteps cut short any retort that Riddick might have made although he did manage a silver narrow-eyed glance the Doctor's direction through his lashes. The docking pilot comes around the corner and stares at them both, but finally settles on Riddick. "So where are they?"

"Still on that, are we?" the Doctor asks. Riddick refuses to answer the question again or even dignify it with a retort at all.

Carolyn looks at the strangely hairless fellow, then back to Riddick, "Okay, then tell me about the sounds. You said you heard something at sunrise." Her retort is a definite lack of one. It's like talking to a statue. Or a pair of them. "Do you want Johns and Shazza to take some cracks at your skulls? I can't keep them away from you forever. And personally, the longer you stay silent, the more likely Johns' theory sounds."

"'Mean the whispers?" For some reason the Doctor isn't stopping him, so Riddick decides to see how far he can push this.

The docking pilot, almost at the point of giving up, turns and asks, "What whispers?" It's only after she asks that she realizes the Doctor is shaking his head at her. That must have been the wrong question to ask.

"The ones tellin' me to go for the sweet spot -- just to the left of the spine, fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta. What a gusher. Had a cup on his belt, so I used it to catch a little run-off. Metallic taste to it, human blood. Copperish. But if you cut it with peppermint schnapps, that goes away. Course, that's more for winter. Summertime, I take mine straight." And of course Richard B. Riddick, convicted murderer, jerks her chain for all it's worth.

"You really get off being the boogey-man don't you?" Carolyn snaps. "Let's try again, huh? The truth this time?"

The Doctor said, "I don't know. Few folks can handle the truth. Are you sure you want it?"

She snarled at him, "Stop playing games! I'm sick and tired of the bullshit. I'm trying to defend you both! Johns is convinced that you helped him haul the bodies away and fill the pit with blood from the others in the cryo-lockers while Zeke was away from the grave."

The Doctor gives her a look that reads, '_preposterous_,' but seems to signal to Riddick to talk without saying a word. Fry is slightly startled by the non-verbal and non-physical communication that she figures must be occurring here.

"All you people are so scared of me -- " Riddick begins, "an' most days, I'd take that as a compliment." He paused, took a breath and glanced over at the Doctor again. He really wondering if this woman will listen to him. " -- but it ain't me you gotta worry about now."

Carolyn Fry catches that flash of quicksilver and sucks in a breath. So it is true. He does have eyeshine. She's completely sidetracked by her curiosity about his eyes, "Show me your eyes."

Richard tilts his head and raises an eyebrow but keeps his eyes closed fast, "What you gonna give me? What you gonna trade, _Captain_?"

She ponders that; "I'll trust you, Riddick. I'll trust in you."

It is quite a trade. He inclines his head toward the Doctor and then says; "Okay, but you'll have to come closer."

One thing she hadn't planned on was getting within reach of either of them. But she can't refuse, not now. She steps inside that invisible line and starts back when Riddick stands up and is nose to nose with her. His eyes are beautiful. She can feel the soft puffs of his breath on her face; he's standing so close. She smiles at him, a childlike delight showing on her face at the beauty she sees in his eyes.

A child's voice cuts into the moment, "Where the hell can I get eyes like that?"

Carolyn frowns at Riddick as his eyes flick over to where Jack is standing. "You gotta kill a few people," he says with a shrug. The docking pilot can still feel his breath on her skin, as he's close enough to nearly kiss her.

Jack says, "Ok. I can do it."

If Riddick is trying to scare the boy off it's not working, "Then you gotta get sent to a slam, where they tell you you'll never see daylight again. You dig up a doctor and you pay him 20 menthol Kools to do a surgical shine job on your eyeballs." Riddick looks back at Carolyn and adds, "Well, we called 'em 'Doc' anyhow."

Her patience is frayed to its ends, "Jack! Out! Now. Leave!" she orders half turning to look at the boy. The child glares at her, "Go on."

The boy spits out some rather colorful Chinese that Fry can't understand. She glances back at Riddick. The look on the convict's face makes her think that she doesn't want to know, actually. "Heh. Cute kid."

The Doctor comments from below them both, "Oh, I don't think '_cute_' is the right word, myself."

"Nah. Gonna be trouble, that one," Riddick agrees on second thought.

Fry clears her throat, "I've heard about eyeshine, but this is the first time I've seen it."

Richard lets his eyes settle on her and nods, "Fairly fuckin' ironic, wouldn't you say? Went from light so dim that you go and get your eyeballs taken out and shined up to here with three ass-kick suns." She nods in agreement and finds a crate to use as a seat. Riddick settles back into the shadows, but keeps his eyes open for her. "Did I kill a few people? Sure. Did I kill Zeke-man? No. Have I played with a few minds? Yeah. Did I mess with your dead? No ma'am, not this time."

"Then where are they? Not in the hole. We looked."

The Doctor says, "Shining a beam into obscurity only illuminates a tiny area at a time."

The killer smirks at that, "Gonna have to look deeper, if you intend to find -- "

"The pieces," says River from the ladder. "Only bits and pieces left of your ghosts. Sorry. All devoured."


	13. Part Thirteen Bargain

**A/N:**_Thanks to Robin Moto who has added this story to her (I'm guessing, but don't shoot me if I'm wrong) favorites list, and to My Reflection, Robin Moto, and ck16 for the reviews.  
This will likely veer from the movie plot at some point (Ok like this chapter, in fact). If you haven't seen the movie and want to read a shooting script for it you can find a link to one in my profile bio. This story uses lines from the shooting script, the novel, and the extended Director's cut of Pitch Black, but I have attempted to choose POV characters that are not used in those sources when I have a choice in the matter.  
Riddick and the Doctor won't always see eye to eye, but Riddick is a smart fellow and knows that he doesn't want to step on the alien's toes until he knows him better. I'm certainly hoping that the ideas in Riddick's head are disturbing. They should be.  
Yes, River needs to be in a certain range for the filtering to be totally effective. It's very possible that she feels discomfort if the connection is too strained. The Doctor does have a 'plan' to deal with this. And Simon is very much central to it.  
As to where this might go – One story at a time please. **:-P**_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Thirteen

Bargain

Carolyn Fry had listened to the two men held inside the ship and the strange girl that showed no fear of either of them. She had watched the wispy lass float over and settle against the Doctor, but between he and Riddick, during the course of their tale that placed them both far away from Zeke at the time of his death. While River had not said anything else, it was clear that she trusted these two, felt perfectly at home with them, and thought that the docking pilot should as well. And for some reason the blonde found it very easy to keep her word to Riddick and trust in him.

Once she had heard the entire story from their point of view, she asked River to come with her back outside. The young lady had given her an odd look, stood and took the blonde's hand, and lead Carolyn out to the others. Simon was facing off against Shazza, who had woken up and was pissed about the drug he'd given her, when Fry stepped out into the light. Paris was hanging out near the hull, hunched in the shade, watching them. Jack was glaring at the world in general about something. And Johns was nowhere to be seen. "Red is soaring," River said cryptically.

Now Fry had no experience with this kind of oddness. She gave the dark-haired girl a strange look and noticed that she had the same sort of _something_ in her eyes as the unsusally pale, tall, man chained up inside. She was beginning to think that perhaps both this girl and the mysterious 'Doctor' were _readers_ or worse. That was a scary thought. _A murderer, and two psychics that might be trained as assassins…_ She pushed the idea aside and sent River over to Jack. The docking pilot then walked up to Simon and Shazza; "The story I'm getting places them both far from the scene of the crime when the shots rang out. But the are saying that the remains are in the hole."

"Fine then. I'll be going to find me Zeke. If you don't mind," Shazza ground out.

"Shazza, I'm not so sure that's wise -- " Carolyn started.

"DID I ever ask you? No. I'm goin'. If I find 'im then I'm gonna come back and carve those two up like holiday turkeys, got that, mate?" She stomped off to gather her equipment.

Simon looks at the docking pilot; "I could sedate her again."

"No. No… It's her choice. I just wish I knew what she was thinking sometimes. It's stupid, you know, to go jumping into a situation where someone has died. There's something in that hole, or I've been lied to."

Simon finds himself stating, "Not by the Doctor."

Carolyn feels a chill trickle up her spine. She looks at the dark haired young man. He looks serene and certain. He's positive that the Doctor would tell the truth. Now for some reason she finds that fitting with her own assessment. Freaky, almost as freaky as the lad's sister, in fact. But she can't question her own instincts. They have saved her life too many times to ignore. She sets off after Shazza.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Johns heard the door to the cargo bay slide open with a bang and roused himself enough to not look totally stoned. He could hear two women arguing as one of them rifled through a cargo container, but couldn't be assed enough to pay attention to the words just yet. The buzz it too good still.

It's only as they are leaving and he hears Carolyn say, "At least wait for Johns, Shazza. If something _is_ in there having someone else to pull you out might save your life," that he feels the need to come out from where he's been hiding.

"Hey, what the hell is going on?" he calls as he moves from around the corner.

Shazza is geared up again to go caving he sees, "Gonna find me Zeke." Then she's gone into the sunlight. The docking pilot gives him a worried look and follows Shazza out.

_Well, ain't that just grand_? Johns sprints the last few feet and spots the two women heading toward the gravesite. From the direction of the hull he spots Jack and the new, weird girl moving to intercept, with the young Doc trailing behind. He shakes his head and moves to catch up with the women. "Hey, I thought we covered this? Don't we already _know_ what happened? Sir-Shiv-a-lot went off on Zeke, buried him on the hill somewhere, got some help to stage this elaborate mind-fuck, and now -- "

"They're sayin' he's in the hole. Not 'somewhere' but right there. I'm findin' me Zeke, marshal." Shazza said in a huff.

"But Shazza, what if they didn't put the bodies there? What if it's something else?"

Johns looked at Fry's pale face; "They got you thinking there's something else out there? No, Carolyn. Riddick killed Zeke."

"I'm not so sure, Johns."

By this point Jack, River, Simon and, surprisingly, Paris have caught up with the others. Johns raises an eyebrow at the audience, and retorts to Fry, "Well, I _am_ sure. Look, murders aside, Riddick belongs in the Asshole Hall of Fame. He loves the jaw-jackin', loves making you afraid, 'cuz that's all he has. And you're playing right into his game."

It's the doc-kid, Simon Tam, who cuts him off, "The Doctor believes that anyone heading into that burrow won't be coming out in one piece."

"And we trust _him_, why, exactly?" Johns says, rounding on the young man.

Shazza said, with her green eyes flashing, "That's what I wanna know, too. Who is the bastard? He didn't get on at the last stop. Where did he come from?"

Simon opens his mouth and then closes it when River's hand circles around his. The thought of '_because_' sounds lame even inside his head before he says it. It's a striking realization to conclude that at some point unmarked and unnoticed the Doctor went from '_foreign_' to '_trust with my life_' in status. And the Tam scion can't pin down when it happened. Questions aside, he knows that he doesn't care how the man got there or who he is. The mystery of the fellow just seems to fit with who the Doctor is. But it is very dangerous to defend the man in the face of Shazza's anger. Simon swallows, "Right."

Carolyn steps in, "Johns." She says in a warning tone. She can see where the Tam lad is coming from, and is quite scared that he's right. Anyone going into that burrow is facing something very unknown. Something dangerous enough that the Doctor had said, _'I don't think recovering your dead is very wise_.' She hadn't given it much thought, but the man must have told Simon or River something along those lines too.

The marshal snorts and turns back to his argument with the bushwhacker as she refocuses on her goal, "Now, I'm gonna find me Zeke. I'll look for the others. But me Zeke is what I have'ta find." She looks at Johns, "Don't matter if Riddick killed 'im or if he ate your pistola because he killed that other man, I still need to find me Zeke."

Direct is not working, so Johns attempts another tatic, "Look, Sharon, I know you love Zeke. But that ground looked none too stable, and I don't want anyone -- "

"Stuff it, Johns. I'm going."

Jack then pipes up, "Hey, I'll go."

"No, Luv. You are staying." Shazza said firmly.

Johns reaches out and catches the bushwhacker by the arm, "Doin' this won't bring him back, Sharon. Riskin' your life won't make your father love you more, or change what's happened. Everyone thought you were smarter than this."

"Fuck off, William. Zeke and me? We made our peace with your kind a long time ago. My family has nothin' to do with it. I owe Zeke's tribe to bring _something_ home. His dreamtime only ends when part of him touches Earth soil again. I don't expect you to understand._ Now, outta my way._" With that she shoves him off and drops into the grave that is coated in dried rusty brown.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Shazza is not scared. With Zeke gone she only aims to find him again one way or another. She pulls her own light and peers down the narrow opening. She can feel the eyes of the others on her back and doesn't care what they think. If Zeke is in here, she aims to find him.

The passage she worms into is wider as she goes. Her off hand providing support, she manages to get onto all fours so that she is crawling. A little bit father and she finds the shattered handlight that she remembers giving her mate for his last birthday. He'd never part with it and be alive she knows.

The others, still outside, are feeding her cable, as she needs it. The narrow passage begins a climb and above her she detects dusty twilight. Suddenly the passage is no longer short or constricted. She scans around and gains her feet. The ceiling is just tall enough for her to feel like she needs to hunch slightly. A stab of sunlight that leaves the rest of the walls in darkness illuminates the center of the chamber. She shines her handlight along the floor. White shards and wet blackness glitter at her. Bones and bloody Vectran.

It doesn't take her much to realize that this burrow's contours follows the shape of the hill and that the spires above it must provide the entry and exit normally used. And the creatures must be carnivores. Even as she senses that she's not alone, Shazza is determined to find something of Zeke to take out with her. She must not show fear.

She can hear now an inhuman clicking wail that is just at the edge of her hearing. There are leathery noises like bat wings rustling around her. She makes a circuit of the chamber and finally spots what she's been looking for. One of Zeke's boots with his foot still in it. The grief nearly bowls her over. She grabs for it even as the shadows seem to come alive around her. "He's mine! I'm taking this with me. You got the rest, you foul monsters!"

Something strikes out at her and she dodges back into the shaft of sunlight, still clutching Zeke's foot. Around her the entire chamber is a swirling mass of shadowy death. She tucks the bloody boot into her belt and braces herself against the inside walls of the spire, scrambling for some purchase with her booted feet.. Her safety chain suddenly begins tugging her back. Her hands scrape on the rough sandstone leaving faint scrapes of blood as she tries to dig her nails into the sides.

The clicking screech builds until it deafens her. Something catches her foot and cuts into her leg. She kicks and fights, but refuses to scream. At least she'll be with Zeke.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Those on the rope feel it go taunt. Then it loosens, and they begin to pull. What comes out is only part of what went in. It's an uneven slice of torso with a boot stuck into the belt.

There's a beat of stunned silence where no one is even breathing.

"Oh, God..." Fry manages. Her worse fears are realized before her. And somehow she already knew they'd been telling her the truth.

Jack howls like his world has ended and tries to throw himself into the pit. Paris and Simon catch the boy who keeps screeching in grief and tries to claw his way free. Simon makes a guess on the child's weight and gives him half a shot of what he used on Shazza the last time they were up here. Jack goes still like a rag doll. Paris, who goes rather green after, lowers the child to the dirt.

Johns looks at the gristly bit, "We did try to warn her, Carolyn. I say we fill this in and call it done. Maybe Imam can say some words later."

The docking pilot is too numb to reflect on his callous disregard of the loss and picks up one of the shovels. Soon everyone is pushing dirt into the gravesite. All but Jack, who is unconscious, and River, who is sitting on the ground rocking back and forth with a glazed look in her eyes, "Anon. Nix Blaze, Aegis. Anon, Nix Blaze --"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor has been sitting very still, and quite frankly, Riddick isn't sure that the alien is breathing, even. The look on his face is one that is very pained, so much so that Riddick can see the twist to his features when he dares to look over that direction. He wants to ask if the man is all right, but is sure that he's not, making the question a stupid one. And he hates looking stupid. Then he catches the mumble that tells him the Doctor must be breathing, although focused elsewhere, because there is no mistaking that musical language. It's not human.

Like most things about the fellow, the longer Riddick is exposed to it the more he craves it. So instead of interrupting the faint tones, the con just listens until they are drowned out by the louder sounds of the others returning. '_Like a herd of elephants_,' he compares the wave of noise to the previous whispered chanting.

Once the sound of the Doctor's voice is drowned out, Riddick figures that it's stopped. He hears someone being settled down in the cryo-bay and Johns voice, "Gonna be alright?"

Simon answers, "I doubt it. The boy has just lost two people he cared a great deal for. How would you feel in similar circumstances?"

"Guess we'll have to keep a watch on the kid then to make sure he don't slit his wrists." Johns footsteps become louder as he moves into the nav bay where the two men are chained. He steps into the filtered light and blocks it from falling into Riddick's face. The ex-ranger does not move or acknowledge that he's there for a long while. Johns finally says, "So. You were being on the up and up."

"Was it worse than me, Billy? Something else to be scared of?"

"Been told to offer you a deal, Rich. Wanna listen or not?" Johns asks as he eyes the pair over.

"I'm listenin'"

"Fry thinks you should be given a chance, seeing as you told her the truth. Cost us a life to verify it and we could've done without that, but she's the _Captain_ and I'm just a badge, so… you work without the bit and without the chains. That's my concession. But I want no shivs, and you do what I say when I say."

Riddick stares at his blue-eyed devil. But the other voice says, "No, marshal. Richard keeps his shivs, for self defense."

"And just why do you think you have any room here to state your terms?" Johns looks at the Doctor.

The other man gives him a very unnerving smile; "You need us." The '_to survive_' part didn't need to be said.

That set Johns on edge. He's not sure which of the two are more dangerous. In his way of thinking, he's got reason to keep the killer alive, but not the other man. He's tempted to just end him now and save himself the trouble. Only he has a distinct feeling that shooting the mysterious man will make Riddick totally uncontrollable. He can't risk that. "Ok, keep your shivs. I can't make you not create them, anyhow."

Now the ex-ranger knows it is his turn to negotiate. The Doctor's gotten him permission to keep a blade, but he needs to know what Johns' plan is. "For what? The honor of goin' back to some asshole of a cell after I've saved your ass, again?" Riddick is glaring now, even though it's painful to do.

"Truth is, Riddick, I'm tired of this head-up shit. Tired of chasing your ass. I wanna be free of you as much as you wanna be free of me."

Riddick gives the man a calculating look; "You'd cut me loose, Boss?"

"I'm thinking you could've died in the crash. If we both make it off this rock I'll pull what ever I need to, to make that happen."

Riddick looks over at the Doctor and noticed that the man's face is hard with a controlled fury that he never wants directed at _him_. Johns is lying. He shakes his head at the merc, "My recommendation: Do me. Don't take the chance that I'll get shiv-happy on your wannabe ass. It's what I would do if I were you."

But Johns can't _see_ anymore than he could hear. He doesn't realize that his bluff is being called. "If you were me, I'd kill us both. C'mon, you wanna sit at the grown-up table or not?"

"Ghost me, mother-fucker."

Johns face doesn't change, or alter in any way. He says, "Ok." And levels the shotgun, now repaired, and fires.

Two sets of chains slither to the floor. "Want you to remember this moment, Riddick. The way it coulda gone and didn't," Johns states.

Now their eyes meet, drugged blue to keen quicksilver, "Say that again." The Doctor gracefully gets to his feet, his arms trailing half the length of the cable. He's just watching and waiting.

Johns holds out the goggles, "You heard me. Here."

Riddick slowly stands, eyeing the black eyewear. It's his original pair, the better ones meant for using a high-power laser, not the common wielding goggles he had before. Those had busted when he was trying to keep Shazza off him. But he's not about to let Johns get away with his firing a shotgun at close range like that. His shoulders are peppered with tiny fragments and he can feel the pinpricks of blood oozing up through the abraded skin. He reaches for the goggles, and snags the shotgun out of Johns' hands at the same time.

The marshal only sees a blur of movement, before he realizes that he's looking at the twin dark eyes of his own weapon. He throws his hands up into the air. "Hey, easy there."

The look on Riddick's face would make a lesser man shit his pants. It's like facing death. "_Fuck you!_" The muscles work in the ex-ranger's jaw and his arms are tight, like a soldier's arms. His stance is perfect. The ultimate killer.

Then a large, pale, hairless hand settles on one bronzed, glistening, shoulder. Johns can see that it's like pulling the right wire on a time bomb. The ex-ranger relaxes and his eyes narrow, "Want _you_ to remember _this_ moment." He expertly twists the shotgun so that it comes apart into two pieces, catches the shells as they slide out of the chamber with his fingers, and tosses the empty barrel and stock to the side. He then throws the shells at Johns.

The redhead flinches as the two men walk out of the bay. He hopes Fry knows what she's doin'.


	14. Part Fourteen Sirocco

**A/N: **_Hey there, reviewers! Delphine Pryde, ck16, My Reflection, Robin Moto: Thank you for the feedback. Yep, I'm fast… not sleeping, because I've got an insane Time Lord babbling in my ear, but I'm fast. And I hate shoddy writing. If you're going to write at least do a good job at it. Make it worth reading, or don't bother. I'm glad you think this is worth reading._  
_Oops -- Shazza's full name is __**Sharon**__ 'Shazza' Montgomery, so I've fixed that from "Shannon" to "Sharon", but yeah that's her. Look on the Pitch Black Website for a short bio. She's the only child of a trillionaire and got involved with some military rebels and ended up leaving Earth with Zeke. She's supposed to be a minor celeb, like Paris Hilton only tougher. __**;-)**_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past…

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Fourteen

Sirocco

The Doctor, clad in his slightly weathered dusty black tee and wrist chains, waves with slight difficulty, to River and Simon as he emerges from the shattered hull behind the broad man who is slowly oozing blood across his shoulders. He wants his jacket back, for one, and knows Simon has it. River sprints over to him and throws her arms around his waist, and he understands that she needs back inside his shields because the emotions around her are running Herculean and scorching. He carefully places a hand on her head, which barely reaches his chin. The attached cable dribbles through her hair and he wants to avoid getting tangled up in the ebony strands.

"Off, get the metal off," she says into his chest. River, for her part, burrows into the cool of him, the peace, and the void. She's missed the storm and how it refreshes her. The faint ache across her scalp builds for a moment as if in protest before disappearing with a little pop like it's been sucked away. Although being with Simon helps, he can't shield her, and there's always the possibility that his needles will come back. She knows that they are useful, that they help, but she doesn't want that right now. There's too much to learn and too much to see to spend this time sleeping.

"Simon, my coat?" The Doctor calls. Simon pauses long enough to fetch it and the healer's bag, then follows his sister's path over to them. He hands the worn leather jacket over to the Doctor.

Riddick waits, feeling a deep desire to protect these three. Not that the Doctor needs protecting he figures, but it's an old demon of his, this need to guard and protect those things that are rare and precious in this impersonal and harsh 'Verse he lives in. Most times he satisfies it by stayin' away from those things that his presence might draw danger toward. This time he doesn't have that option. And he can't ignore the look he's seen in the merc's eyes either. If the Doctor isn't careful Johns _will_ ghost him first chance he gets. Since the ex-ranger needs the alien on some level he's been very careful to not define, he'd better make sure the fellow lives.

"I heard the shot. It seems to be a wasteful way to release you." Simon said as he pulled out a tube of Derma-heal. He's had the time to get into his storage unit and replenish his bag. While he was at it he stuffed a few extra things into the Doctor's coat too. Far more than he thought would fit, even. River uncurled one arm and took the leather jacket by the collar so the Doctor can find what he's looking for in his pockets.

Riddick shrugs at the assessment. That's Johns for you. The dark haired lad motions him down so he can take a better look at the damage. His face morphs into a frown as the larger man complies and he gets his professional eye on the wounds. Simon makes a disgruntled sound in his throat. '_Gotta agree with you there, Doc_,' Riddick thinks. He's none too happy about the situation either.

"See you used my coat to store some things, lad," the Doctor comments as it takes him longer than normal to locate the sonic screwdriver. "I'll have to fix your bag for you, so I can get this extra weight out of my pockets."

Simon has turned his attention to picking out the small shards of metal from Riddick's shoulders, now that the larger man has crouched so he can reach. "Sorry, things have been quite uncertain and I don't know when I'll be allowed back into my belongings." He plucks an antiseptic wipe out of the container he's got under an arm and begins to clean the broad planes of the bronze man's form. Once that is done Simon applies the Derma-heal.

The only sounds during the process are the hiss of the spray and the rumpling noise of the Doctor's hand as he shifts through the deceptively 'empty' pocket. "Don't apologize for using your brain, young man. It's the only thing that separates you from the chaff here." The Doctor's hand emerges from a pocket with the silver tube gripped in his fingers. Seconds later the both con and Time Lord have shed the cable as four locks are opened. Then the cable is kicked away by River's boots. She returns to the Doctor's side and curls her fingers in a belt loop of his jeans.

"Thanks again, Doc," Riddick says to Simon. He ignores the removal of his wrist cuffs, as it was the Doctor that got him slapped into them in the first place. The alien doesn't seem to notice or care. But the con watches him, making sure he hasn't offended the man. He catches a slight hint of amusement in the gent's eyes and keeps his face blank as he stands back up.

"I want to look at that knot on your head too. Why don't we step over here and I'll see what I can do."

The ex-ranger goes from blank to glaring through his goggles at the Doctor. Damn liar, '_not that bad_…' What does he define as bad then? Oh, there are tons of possibilities there; Riddick's mind can supply them easily. What has the Doctor seen that makes him view a possible concussion as minor? Better to not ask. He turns and nods to Simon. The alien shrugs at him, brushing off the expression as he slips back into his leather jacket somehow managing to not dislodge the girl nor hit her in the process.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The docking pilot had helped steer River back to the crash site. In spite of the fact that the girl had mumbled the entire way back about something 'shielding the fire' she was rather easy to get moving. Then Fry had waited for Paris to stop dry-heaving. The art dealer looked pale and pasty and in this heat that couldn't be good. She'd gotten him into the shade and one of his fans on him. Once the Simon emerged from the hull where he'd settled Jack down she suggested a shot for the man.

Dr. Tam and agreed to medicating Olgivie after scanning the art dealer over. But Fry disliked leaving Jack alone even though the boy would sleep for another hour or two at the very least. Now she found herself inside the nav bay where Jack was settled on a space blanket provided by someone's cargo sitting with the child. The boy was still out cold, his elven face twisted up like even his dreams hurt. Her hand brushed the golden bangs off the sweaty forehead as her mind wandered. It was very lucky that they had a medical doctor on hand, or Paris would have dropped from a heart attack, she figured.

Fry ran her fingers through the sleeping boy's hair. The amber tones of it reminded her of her brother, who had fled their parent's debt and negative records by changing his name and becoming a free-settler on some back-world or another. Last she had heard, two decades ago, he'd gotten married and had 'won' a homestead plot. The letter had been an invite to join him on his farm. She had turned it down, choosing instead to finish her schooling and become a pilot.

She couldn't imagine going from the technological world they'd been raised on, trash planet or no, to some untamed, prefab, ball of dirt to raise crops or cows. Not her cup of tea. And she would have never imagined that her mechanically brilliant brother would give up his company scholarship to become a farmer. But he had. She supposed that he was at the very least happy and free from the ties that keeping the Fry surname shackled her with. All she would have had to do to slip free of those bonds was add an 'e' to her name and move… She suspected that was all he'd done.

For all she knew this kid that she was trying to comfort was a relation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Arabic becoming louder. _Shit_. She'd totally forgotten about the Imam and his boys. But then so much had happened in such a short time… She scrambled to her feet as Imam's voice called, "Captain? I was told you were in here."

"Over here, Imam. God. I'm sorry. I – I forgot about you guys. Were you able to fix what you were working on?"

"Nearly. There's something broken on the pump, although there's water now filling the central chamber."

She blinks at him, "How about taking the pump out of the_ Hunter-Gratzner_ and replacing the broken one?

"If it is possible to remove it."

"I don't see why not. Let me show you where it is." Carolyn found herself leading someone else into the dusty interior of the ship toward the cistern hatch. The pump was easy to locate, and with the correct tools would be easy to remove. Abu and Hassan set to work on the project, as Fry went back to locate the other survivors. She noted Ali with Jack and was glad for it.

Outside she found Simon giving Paris a walkthrough on breathing nice and deep while he treated the man's condition. One of the other pilgrims, Suleiman she thought, was kneeling down near them helping to pad the art-dealer's back to prop him up. The fellow was looking better.

The other gent going by the title Doctor was with River. In his hands was a yo-yo that he was performing tricks with to keep the girl amused, Fry guessed. Riddick was leaned against the hull watching. "Seen Johns?" Riddick pointed up with a thumb. She frowned and scaled the ladder.

Johns up top the hull under Paris' misting umbrella, reclined in the man's chair. He was drinking a bottle of something quite strong. The suns were at about two o'clock, twin fires in the sky making everything looked overexposed. She stood there and raised an eyebrow at him. They still had shitloads of work to do if they were gonna make it out of this alive and here he was getting plastered.

"So what's up, _Captain_?" Johns said.

She frowned at him, "Don't start. You were wrong, _twice_. So just don't start, Johns. The Imam says they have the moisture reclamation unit working but for a tap. They are lifting the cistern pump out of the hull now. We'll need to get it back to the settlement. It might be a good idea for us to all go." The redhead made a face. Then he nodded and handed her the bullhorn.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The sound of Fry's voice amplified by the horn drew everyone onto the cryo-bay. By the time Ali and a sleepy Jack joined the adults there are enough scrounged crates and folding chairs for everyone to have a perch if they wanted one. Paris settled into one of the antique chairs middle of the group, not choosing either side over the other. Abu and Hassan have the pump and the required subsystems gathered together and settled into crates and are standing by the wall. Suleiman rounds up the younger boys and has them sit with his brother even though Jack looks like he would rather not be.

Simon, River, the Doctor, and Riddick made up another grouping, although the con seemed to be trying to stand apart from them. River is firmly planted between her brother and the Doctor, one hand curled around the edge of a leather coat pocket. The impression Johns gets is that Riddick is guarding the three others.

Fry situates herself between Imam and the Doctor, across from Johns and in front of Paris. "Right, this is everyone. We're sure there are no other survivors out there?"

"I found no other life signs as River and I came up the crash scar," said Dr. Tam. Johns figures he'd be the one to know.

Carolyn nods. "No point in staying here. There's a settlement, about half a day's easy walk due sunrise. Haven't taken inventory, mind you, but there is water, shelter, and -- a skiff. Might just get us off planet."

"Fuel source?" asked the Doctor. He looks thoughtful.

"Um, looks like six fifteen-gig draw liquid fuel cells. Drained of power."

"Won't work."

Fry looks at the man as though he's voiced her greatest fear, "Not as such, no. But enough systems have survived in the _Hunter-Gratzner_ that I think I can rewire it."

Riddick speaks up, "You're talking about strippin' it out, this skiff, and rebuilding it from the ground up. Do you even know enough about the various systems to do something like that?"

It's a huge task. Could take months. But she does have the background to do it. As long as there are enough electrical systems left in the_ Hunter-Gratzner_ that she can use, at least. "Yes. My brother and I used to do similar all the time growing up. Often times it was the only way to put food on the table, taking two or three broken vehicles and making it so one worked." She ran her hand through her hair, "It's been twenty-five years or so, but this is an older boat, and the skiff is at least three decades old too. I should be able to do it, given the time."

"Well, we're not going anywhere else. How likely is it that a rescue ship will come for us?" Paris asks, "I mean, I've got half a million UD's worth of cargo insured."

The marshal says, "Not too sure we wanna wait, I mean, they are liable to send a squad of liquidators or bounty hunters, not rescuers." He nods over at Riddick, "You know the company is going to place the blame for the crash and the deaths on Rich here. Anyone able to say otherwise won't survive."

There's a pause of silence as everyone considers that possibility. It's not a pretty picture that forms.

"Owens did get out a partial distress, but I'm not sure how much transmitted. In any case it'll be twenty-two to forty-four weeks before anyone comes at all. We'll have to try to survive that long at least even if the company sends anyone." Fry sighs, "And they might not, Paris. They might just pay off your business claim, write off the _Hunter-Gratzner_ as a tax loss and close the books on it. They had just incorporated the ship on it's own so they were trying to privatize it under Mitchell. I suspect now _that_ was because it was getting too expensive to keep up repairs."

There was a rumble of discontent for a moment as several voices, Paris and Johns the loudest, attempted to place blame for the situation while others jumped in to defend. River hid her face in the Doctor's side as the noise level rose. The man curled an arm across her and glared at those arguing with each other. Simon was thinking that perhaps sedating the whole lot of them was a good idea as the babbling broke into strands of English, Arabic, and Chinese spliced together. Riddick finally let off a piercing whistle, "Hey, shut it. The only way to survive is to focus on what we have to do."

After a moment the room went from tense silence to thoughtful silence. Fry nodded at the goggled man in thanks for his help, as her voice had been totally drowned out.

"There is a sand-cat and several trailers at the settlement. If we get that working then stripping the hull will go that much faster. Clearly someone survived here for a period of time at one point. God must intend for us to do so as well," Imam stated.

"So – to the settlement?" Simon asks.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Over the course of the next few hours, everyone is called into service gathering together anything they can carry. Zeke's sled is pressed into use and loaded down with a large assortment of items that the survivors believe that they must have on this first trip. This includes spare oxygen containers, the pump for the moisture recovery system, liquor, medical supplies, survival gear, and even prayer rugs and holy books. It's hard to ignore the strange spires on the hills, and doubly so when folks keep spotting Jack standing and staring off at them blankly.

Inside the ship, Carolyn, Abu, Suleiman, and the Doctor have been assessing the systems of the _Hunter-Gratzner_ and noting how much they can save. The decision is made to take one power 20-gig cell back to the settlement along with an assortment of converters so that they can tell how much of the skiff's wiring will have to be replaced.

Once that is decided the four split up to gather some personal things. Or rather all of them but the Doctor. He instead steps out and looks at the overloaded sled with narrow eyes. Nearly two thirds of the load are items that he considers non-essential. "How many of us are pulling this?" he asks one of the pilgrims. The answer causes him to unload half of the items on the sled.

"What are you doing?" Johns asks.

"If Mr. Olgivie wants his scotch then he can carry it. The extra two cases are uncalled for. It will be here when we return with the sandcat. And the same goes for the misters. And the chairs. And your extra shells," The Doctor says handing the red box back to the merc. "Unless you want to assist in pulling the sled?" He gets a growl and the redhead snatches the box from him.

Riddick just makes sure that Johns knows where he is so that the merc doesn't do anything rash.

As the double suns slowly move to the horizon and the blue sun peaks up over, the group sets off on their trek. The older pilgrim boys decide to help with pulling the sled, and take up the first two positions. The Doctor and Riddick take up the positions behind Hassan and Suleiman. Together the four men can haul far more than each could carry alone.

Ahead of them Carolyn and Abu carefully balance a 35kilo-power cell in a sling made from some scavenged webbing. Ali, Jack, Simon, River, Johns, and Paris all carry their own loads of varying sizes, with Paris coming in as the lightweight.

The group walks with only the chanting, in Arabic, to keep time with. They don't really notice as the sounds slowly resolve into words they can understand, as the boys recite scripture and prayers.

The twin suns dip below the edge of the world as they approach the boneyard. Up ahead of the sled Paris looks at Johns, "So just like that. Wave your little wand and he's one of us now?"

The redhead rolls his eyes at the man, "Didn't say that. But least this way _I_ don't have to worry about falling asleep and not wakin' up."

Abu said, "Well, I feel we owe Mr. Riddick and the Doctor amends."

"Right, it's not like Rich's killed people before this. Or that we know much about the Doctor." Johns says to the holy man.

"Neither have not harmed anyone here. If anything they have tried to save lives. We should at least share what we have…"

"Riddick's happy just bein' vertical. Leave him be." Johns is careful to not include the Doctor in that order but the Time Lord scowls at the marshal's back none the less. Richard notes the expression and vows to return the kindness.

Jack has been listening, and now decides it's time to find someone else's wing to tuck under, "So I can talk to Riddick now?"

Johns, Paris, Abu, and Carolyn all say, "_No_."

The boy's face twists up in anger. If Shazza had just listened then she'd still be alive and he wouldn't be alone. There's no reason to treat the large bronze-skinned man like a pariah. Being nice to him might save their lives, after all. River takes his hand, "Soon, little bird." Jack nods. Ali steps up and takes River's other hand and she joins the two boys in a rhyming game that combines English, Arabic, Chinese and about seven other languages that the two boys don't know but accept from her as being real languages none-the-less.

They are scaling the first rise now, and its tough going. Paris slips and slides and manages to drop one of his bottles from his beaded bag on the side of the sled that Riddick is walking on. As the sled passes, the con scoops it up. Paris finds that he's beside the man, "Um… Paris P. Ogilvie. Antiquities dealer, entrepreneur."

Riddick doesn't call the sled to a stop but quickly shakes the offered hand as they walk, "Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict, murderer."

"That's a very expensive -- " Paris begins, as Riddick opens the bottle, drains half and offers the remainder to his 'pulling partner'. He ignores the two pilgrims because he knows they are on Hajj and can't have the liquor. He feels for them, because they are pulling a tough weight, but they don't seem to mind much with their faith providing them with what they need to deal with this trial.

The Doctor looks at the thin, elegant, rusty-toned bottle as he takes it from Riddick's hand. The wine inside is well aged and normally would be served in tiny glasses. He sniffs it. '_Not so shoddy_,' the Time Lord thinks. It's not like the alcohol effects him much. With a smirk he copies Riddick's example and finishes the bottle. It wouldn't be polite to refuse, after all. " -- It's a fine drop." Paris finishes.

"Yes. Thank you. Hits the spot." The Doctor says as he hands the now empty bottle back.

Paris feels the bottle in his hand although it takes him a minute to really notice it. Then he stupidly blinks at it. It is empty. Almost a hundred UD's gone in a few seconds. He could bet that neither man really appreciated it either. But he glances at the Doctor's face and his very clear blue eyes, shaded by the brim of his leather cap, and realizes that perhaps he's wrong. The thanks seem genuine. "You're both quite welcome. I've got more if you want it." He is rattled but not stupid. The con smiles at him. It's a creepy smile. Paris is shaken further. He quickly turns to catch up with Imam and Fry.


	15. Part Fifteen Water

**A/N: **_I'd like to thank kam666 for placing this wacky tale on the alert list. All my reviewers are great people: My Reflection and ck16 thanks for the input. I love hearing your reactions and enjoy your questions and comments.__  
Noticed Johns is a pig-headed jerk yet? Sure you have. The original shooting script and novel have him much more of a one than the film. But remember, he's got guns so most folks ignore his abrasive personality. Since I'm using Riddick's POV a lot you get a slightly more 'jerk-ness' from the merc. (But hey, he's a great villain. I love Johns. __**:-) **)_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past…

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Fifteen

Water

The settlement was an older construction, made of Aluminex pre-fab housing marked with Pö-Net, inc. stamped into them. Simon Tam frowned at the Tibetan symbols used to adorn some of the buildings alongside Chinese and English. "Looks like a Blue Sun Subsidiary built this."

"Is that what this is?" Fry asks as they move into the shadows cast by the buildings.

"Yes," Paris adds, "I remember Pö-Net, from when I was younger. They haven't been in business for over two decades."

"But what would Pö-Net have been doing so far out of Alliance space?" Simon wonders.

Paris looks back at the Tam scion, "Well, there for a few years the talk was that the two societies might benefit from linked trade routes. Non-sleeper, if possible. This planet sits someplace in the halfway point, doesn't it? They might have been trying to establish a colony here. It's habitable enough to not need a huge investment."

"It didn't take, whatever the goal was." Johns offered.

"It wasn't registered with the company or Sol-Track either. Could it have been a private venture?" Fry wonders.

"Why?"

"Well, the skiff isn't Blue Sun tech. It's New Oslo."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor was of course curious about this _skiff_. He had an odd feeling that there was something about it that the docking pilot had neglected to mention. Aside from the fact that it might take her months to rewire the thing even with expert help, that was. Once the sled was settled, he and Riddick along with Simon and River, headed out to the runway where the others had gathered. His first impression was that it was a beauty of hybrid human invention. Compact and spaceworthy. One of the more elegant yet rugged designs he'd seen over the years.

Then he realized that it might fit nine cryo-lockers into the thing, but that the pilot would have to stay awake unless the entire computer system of the crash ship had survived the impact. The last time he'd repaired a computer after a crash he'd messed up royally. He didn't want nor need a repeat performance on a larger scale, thank you very much.

And that there was the main problem; the skiff was tiny. There were eleven survivors, not counting himself, and room for ten if there were ten working cryo-lockers, and if the autopilot from the crash ship could be converted over to work on this smaller scale. The numbers just were not adding up here. It was painfully clear that even if the skiff saved most of them at least one person would be leaving with him on the TARDIS, if the Cryo-systems on the crash ship could be salvaged. If not, then he'd be taking half of the survivors or all of them and he wasn't quite sure how he would explain any of it to anyone, anyhow. His head really was throbbing.

Beside him, looking on in nearly stunned silence, Paris Olgivie finally managed, "I mean, usually I can appreciate antiques, but, uh..." before words once again fail him. The Time Lord glances over at the fellow as Riddick ambles past with Jack on his heels. The ex-ranger walks a circuit around the skiff with a critical eye. Jack stops at the ramp where Carolyn is using the override to get the door open. She and Abu have settled the power cell down on the ramp behind her.

Johns circles around from the other side, "Little ratty-assed."

And while it is true that time or _something_ has torn the wings quite badly, it's just a cosmetic thing, really. While the skiff might need them repaired to take off, the wings will burn away before it reaches space. "Nothing we can't repair." Fry says as she turns her attention to the power cell.

"We will get the pump replaced on the moisture recovery unit," Imam announces as he steers his two elder boys away from the skiff. The sooner they get the water flowing the better their chances will be.

"How about we start with a 10 gig converter? Or would you suggest a 5?" Fry asks as she starts tugging the cell up the ramp rather unsuccessfully.

The Doctor walks forward to give her a hand and says, "Start with a 5, you are less likely to blow systems that way."

The blonde nods, "-- so long as _some_ of the electrical adapts." Even a fraction will save them weeks of time.

Simon steps in to assist as well, while Paris makes a face. "Not a star-jumper," he says.

"Doesn't need to be. Use this to get back to the Sol-Track Shipping Lanes, stick out a thumb. Bound get picked up." Riddick shrugs, "Ain't that right, Captain?"

Fry looks up with curiosity, but not fear, to Riddick then over at Johns._'How did he know that?' _she wonders. Johns isn't giving away any clues. The cell is almost in place, "Thanks for the help. Either of you know how to rewire?"

Simon shakes his head, the Doctor nods, Riddick steps forward like he knows how as well but Johns blocks him. The merc doesn't want to lose total control of the situation and he does not like the fact that the docking pilot seems unafraid of the killer. "Whoa, whoa… Why don't you check those containers over there for me? See what we got to patch wings with."

Riddick gives the redhead a blank look and a shrug. He can find out what is going on later with the skiff. He makes a show of looking in the crates and barrels as he makes his way to where the older pilgrims and Imam are doing their own repairs. At least they accept his help, even if it's just lifting and holding the pump so that they can make the final connections, without question.

Paris has enlisted the children, Jack, Ali, and River, to help him clean up the cafeteria. They are dusting and decorating while he is taking inventory of what it here. Simon enters and sets to helping as he is not much more than in the way over at the skiff. The two boys finish dusting the area they've been assigned and slip away from Paris while he's not looking. River giggles when the art dealer realizes that two of his 'helpers' have fled and then offers to complete the task he wanted done, which consists of re-hanging some holiday decorations to make the place look a little more festive.

The two boys spot some places to explore; one is a playroom that occupies them for a period of time. Another is a child's bedroom. Ali and Jack come up with a plan that will get Jack a new adult to take care of him…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Back in the skiff, the Doctor and Fry manage to get the correct converter hooked up without causing the entire system to short circuit, and begin to carefully turn on systems to see what is drawing power from the 20gig cell. Johns hangs about near the ramp, out of the way but watching. A surprising number of lights are twinkling throughout the skiff's controls. "The backup computer and emergency systems look like they are more resilient than life support or engine controls," says the brown-haired man.

"Okay, that should buy us a sys-check, at least. What else do you think we'll need?"

The Time Lord looks at her, "The autopilot and navigation systems, ten cryo-lockers and full cryo system support with enough cryo-drugs to last six months, engine and thruster control, and at least 150gigs of power."

"How many cells would that be?" Johns asks.

Carolyn frowns slightly at the Doctor's logic. She can understand it, because the skiff won't have any internal life support aside from the Cryo-lockers once the rewire happens. But she hates cryosleep. "Seven more. The Hunter-Gratzner has 20gig cells. With this one, we have to have eight to launch. "

"35kilos each, huh?"

"If you no longer need me here, I'll locate the sandcat that Imam referred to and see if I can get it running," the Doctor said

Carolyn nodded.

As the Time Lord stood Johns added, "And if you need an extra hand, since you seem to work with him well, tap --" He peers out and around, "Um, Where's Riddick?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor was far more interested in where the children were, actually. Riddick, he knew, wouldn't just walk into something blindly that he couldn't handle. The missing Jack and Ali however were another story. The town is truly a ghost town, the Time Lord can see, once he starts walking it. He's told Johns not to worry himself, that he'll find the ex-ranger and keep an eye on him, if only to keep the merc away from Riddick in an effort to prolong the redhead's life.

He pauses and narrows his eyes as he spots the plastic yellow flash of swim goggles sitting atop a shaved, but small, head. Jack. He begins to trail the children, who are, he figures, trailing the bronze figure ahead of them. The brown-haired man passes long dry hanging gardens, tossed and twisted outdoor furniture made of sturdy wrought iron, and discarded toys, tools, and other signs of daily life while plexi crunches underfoot. All the while he's got his eye on Jack and Ali who think they are sneaking unseen.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The final bit of the pump finally sets into place and the solar power panels begin feeding it energy. Hassan, Suleiman, and Paris all wait eagerly for the water to flow from the open tap. They watch as the first drop slowly, oh so slowly squeezes it's way into the clear feeding tube and down to the spigot.

The first drop of water. Life. It wets the metal fount and forms a bead of moisture. The two young men fight for it. Then another forms, and another… soon there's a steady trickle that threatens to become a wasteful flow. The waiting crowd cheers it on before Paris realizes that it is going to nothing but the dry earth below. "My turn! My turn!" he begins catching the water in containers.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Doctor slips around to the side, out of sight, as the ex-ranger investigates the signs around him. The taller of the two men figures he can ask what has been uncovered later, and is more intent on keeping an eye on the two smaller foolish forms hunched across the way.

It's the toy robot that Riddick uncovers from in front of the door warbling to life that distracts the Time Lord from his watch, " -- to all intruders. I am the guardian of this land. I will protect my masters at all cost. Death to all intruders -- ." He frowns at the disruption and has to scan to relocate the children. _Pesky creatures_. The sounds of the doors rattling sends the Doctor out of his hiding place and toward the back of the large sturdy building. His ears, far more sensitive than human ears, pick up the ultrasound chatter and flutter of wings that the shaking caused. _Now, where are those kids_?

He hears the marshal let out a piercing whistle, "Missin' the party. C'mon, boy." He slaps his thigh with his hand.

The Doctor moves past the next stack of crates and spots who he's been looking for kneeling down in front of a opening in the wall. The Time Lord quickly lays his hands on the collars of two, very in trouble, young lads. "No sneaking into buildings you don't belong in," he says pulling them to their feet and giving them both a shake. He then, fast as lightning, changes his grip from their clothes to their earlobes. There's a stereo yelp from the children.

Riddick pokes his head around the corner, grins like the devil at the trio, motions with his head and echoes Johns, "Missin' the party. C'mon."

"Hey, let'go" says Jack as he's brought up beside the man he's remade himself up to look like, "Ouch! That hurts."

Ali just takes the punishment quietly after the first protest and finds the Doctor merely holding him by the back of the neck after a few moments.

"Makin' it worse with the protests, Jack," Richard tells the boy.

"But it's not fair!"

"Life rarely is, young man. Do stupid things and you'll be treated like you _are_ stupid," the Doctor tells him.

Riddick takes Jack's arm and the Doctor releases his ear. The ex-ranger kneels down to the boy's level, "Listen Jack, and listen good. If you want to survive this you need to take it serious. Don't go asking for protection if you're gonna throw it away." The boy swallows and nods.

The con stands, runs his hand over Jack's shaved head and then propels him into the room where the Imam's voice rings out in prayer, "...and for this, our gift of drink, we give thanks in the name of our Prophet, Muhammad, peace be upon him, and to his father, Allah the Compassionate and the Merciful."

Jack heads to the table where the water is, and the Doctor hands Ali off to Abu with the warning, "He went looking for trouble and almost found his death."

Abu gives Ali a stern look and a frown. "I won't no more," the boy says, "I promise."

Paris at that point says, "Well, look who won the look-alike contest," when his eyes fall on Jack.

"Shut it, you pig-faced -- " but Jack stops short when he realizes that everyone can understand his words. "My hair was nasty. No water. So I shaved. _Big_ deal." The boy downs a swallow of water.

The pilgrims finish filling the first round of goblets and Johns goes to hand Riddick the last one poured. The Doctor takes the sediment filled glass out of the marshal's hand as he walks past him, forcing them to give the con a cleaner glass. The two men, long standing enemies that they are, glare at each other over the water until Simon gives Richard a glass plucked from the table. "Thank you, Doc," the goggled man says. He drinks as he follows the Doctor's path around the room.

The Time Lord is scanning papers and pictures, shuffling through charts and other bits of data and ignoring his glass entirely where he's set it on the windowsill. Riddick looks over the other man's shoulder at the information curious to find that the strange characters he sees morph into those he can read.

"Perhaps we should toast our hosts. Who were these people, anyway? Miners? Free settlers?" asks Paris.

"Geologists. Advance party, according to this. They had a ten-year contract to scout and locate resources for use by Blue Sun, Pö-Net, and New Oslo corporations. If the resource threshold were found high enough then there would have been a joint colony and space port built here." The Doctor says as he holds up a sheaf of thick papers.

Fry has been rifling through stuff on the other side of the room, noticing emergency rations that would feed twenty-five to thirty people for a good two years or so still stacked inside spoil proof containers. "Nice of them to leave so much of their stuff here." She turned away from the cabinets and walked to the table. Rubbing her nose, Carolyn put the goblet down and Johns refilled it, "So,_ why_'d they leave their ship?"

An uneasy silence settles on the room. Simon looks around and notices River isn't there. He ducks into the side room that looks like an office, filled to overflowing with papers and charts and pictures. But no River.

Johns scoffs at the docking pilot, "It's just a skiff. One use. Disposable, really. You said so yourself, Carolyn."

"Like an emergency life-raft, right?" Jack asks.

Paris nods, "Sure. I imagine after the contract was up that a real drop-ship picked them up and took them off-planet."

The bronze-skinned man finds himself staring into the intense bright eyes of the alien and realizing that he and the Doctor share a deducted truth. He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. "These people – They _didn't_ leave," Riddick says.

The Doctor just gives him a curt nod before adding, "Look around you. There's eight years worth of data here." He gestures with his hands full of paper. "This is what they were sent for. If nothing else, all of this should have gone with them."

"What are you saying?" Carolyn said, leaning over the table toward him.

It's Riddick's turn to scoff. But Simon's the one to speak up as he comes back into the room; "They are all dead, aren't they? Whatever it was that killed Zeke and Shazza killed them."

"Come on, cut the crap." Johns says standing up. "Maybe all the data was stored on a drive, and the crew had weight limits."

"And they left behind their clothes, still on the line? Personal photos, toys, wedding bands scattered on their dressers?" The ex-ranger retorts.

Johns got red in the face, "You _don't_ know."

"I know you don't un-crate your _emergency_ ship unless there's a fucking _emergency_."

"Fuckin' Right!" Jack exclaims.

"Watch your mouth," Johns spins on the boy.

Carolyn steps in before Johns and Riddick launch at each other's throats, "So what happened? Where are they, then?"

"Anyone know where River is?" Simon asks.

The Doctor takes off for the door, flying through the room, papers scattering across the floor as he drops them. Riddick looks at Fry, "The coring room?" Simon spins and follows the tall pale man out in a run.


	16. Part Sixteen Burn

**A/N: **_Thank you, My Reflection, alphaskiier, and ck16, for the reviews.__  
What was River thinking (remember Bushwhacked?!? Huh, do you?)? Did she go __inside__ the Coring Room? Why, why, why? Yee Gawds! … Guess you'll have to read to find out (Is a cliffhanger __really__ a cliffhanger when you only have to wait a day for the answer?). __**:-D**_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past…

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Sixteen

Burn

She could hear them scream. Thirty voices, young and old, shrieking out in a total darkness, huddled together behind a locked door, listening to the inhuman wails and clicking that coated the wet air with _death_. Echoes of old terror that built and built with increasing pressure until she couldn't neglect them anymore.

The voices started out as whispers, a caress, that she ignored in favor of remaining safe. But now, they overwhelmed her with a call that pounds in her head, even though the void is filtering the emotions of the living for her. He can't touch the cries of the dead. It's beyond his power. To know that she can sense something he cannot frightens her. She must fight it, for as long as she can.

But then, she swept along on the horror, the blind panic, and the fear of the sharpness in the dark the moment she's too tired to resist anymore. It drowns out the others, grips her like nothing else, and she can't make herself cling to the storm. She's too impuissant. They wash her away, like so much rain across the walk. Sometimes water is forceless. It follows the path of least resistance. It flows downhill. It shrinks in the face of the sun. This is not something she chooses to do. Her feet seem to take her there, through the twisted passages of the ghost town, without any conscious thought.

Now she stood, like a gunslinger, or a ballet dancer, in the middle of the dusty lane. A warm dust devil swirls around her knees then goes still. But not just the air falls silent. The world seemed to pause, caught in the moment, suspended. Time hovers, waiting for its lord to catch up. And she wonders during that breathless twinkling what exactly that means. She thinks she hears a faint inhuman laugh, as if something divine finds her petty thoughts amusing.

She blinked. A sizzling, hellish, wind blew her tangled hair back away from her face. Fire could flow on that bluster, burning everything in its path. Her cheeks sting from the bite of the grit in it. Seconds later her ears detected a scraping sound. The heavy yellowish stained tarp slithered to the ground off the roof of the huge multi-sided building in front of her. The noise in her head swelled even larger, she put her hands up over her ears. Their screams came from here, this place, The Coring Room.

There was rain, pounding rain. And Darkness. Something shielded the fire and let the hunger out. She thinks that she is going to faint for a moment as the vision of the past floods her senses with sensations that do not jive with reality. When it fades she's shaking from the remembered cold. Her fingers still feel it against her scalp where she's clawing at her head. _Where is the Storm_?

Then her attention is drawn back by something else. River's extra senses detect what only one other can see, the shattered wispy filaments that cling to this place like dusky golden embers that refuse to fade. It is like the building is burning in the horror of what took place in this location. The strands flicker like flame greener and mauve here, different than elsewhere. It's a strange combination, one that fills her with dread.

She can't see any other movement aside from the golden-green-mauve licking filaments but there must be some taking place because she can hear it. There's a sharp click followed by deeper creaking noise, with a grinding accompaniment. Her eyes become aware of movement behind the gossamer cool inferno as the storm shutters slide open, but it takes her a disjointed second to connect the sound with the vision. She takes in a sharp hissing breath and freezes as something begins to rise and fill her ears. It's a tickling sensation, like the actual sound is beyond her comprehension but not her hearing. She's reminded of a whirlpool or a funnel cloud.

River knows then that something very bad is about to happen, and she's quiescent, unable to flee.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Simon has never been so scared in all his life. He's chasing through the punishing heat trying to follow someone through someplace that he's not familiar with. Breathing is impossible, but somehow he doesn't need to in his panic. Behind him the others are following, a clatter of bodies and feet against the rocky soil, packed hard into passable roads.

The path is a twisted one, left, right, left and left again followed by a long straight alley filled with crates and stacks of various sizes that forces him to twist from one side to the other as he runs. It almost seems like this settlement is growing just because he needs to get someplace quickly. The Doctor, who is near the end of the alley already, disappears around the corner, as the sounds of something large breaking, like huge panes of plexi-glass shattering, crashes through the air. Time crawls to a slow snail's pace and he feels like he's pushing through something thick. But his sister is in danger; he can _feel_ her alarm. It makes him strive harder to reach her. If he had the breath to, Simon would yell out to River, but he doesn't.

He bursts around the building just seconds later and skids to a halt, sliding in the duff and just barely keeping his feet. His eyes are drawn and glued to the glittering fountain of shards that are exploding off the roof of a multi-story structure just on the other side of where River and the Doctor are standing. Simon is aware of both above and below, as the Time Lord places his left hand on River's head and pushes her down into a crouch and digs in his pocket with his right. At the same time, the tinkling glitter falls off from around a hellish blackish-gray mass of living creatures spiking up into the sky. The conglomerate flies through the air like a school of fish, in harmony like it has one mind, even as the outer layer catches fire and burns.

The aggregate gains altitude and flattens out like it is searching for something. The dark bat-like swarm is huge, a swirling blob of sparks, raining ash, and sharp edges. He throws his arms wide to catch the others before they pass him around the corner as the mass screeches down to ground level, blocking off his sister and friend from sight. His need to breathe resurfaces and he finds himself gasping for oxygen that just does not exist in the air here.

'_Oh please, God Almighty, in whatever name you desire, let them live!_' Simon thinks. He's not the only one, as beside him the Imam cries out, "Allah!" He swears, if River makes it he'll pray every chance he's reminded to. He feels the docking pilot's hand grasp his, but his eyes are glued to the last location he saw River at.

The sound seems to grow, like the mob is angered. It physically swells back, like it is following an invisible bubble, expanding and flaming because it can't protect itself from whatever it is that causes them to burn. The school whirls and ripples, smoking and smoldering and sparking into fire, a infernal monstrous wail made of a thousand individual voices all working in unison fills the air. Then the flock rears back as if it's been dealt, finally, a grievous blow before rolling in a spiral upwards, back toward the structure it emerged from like a hellish, flaming, living, mist.

It's raining ashen haze from the burning bodies.

Finally the screech fades. His sister is on her knees with her arms thrown over the sides of her face. The Doctor's left hand is settled still on her head, and her hands are clutching it. The sleeves of her tunic have been shredded. Her arms are covered with fine lines of deep red like she's been attacked by a thousand edges of paper. The linen duster is stained with yellow dirt and black cinders. Above her stands the Doctor with his sonic screwdriver out. His jacket looks a little worse for wear, but somehow he's only caught a few faint scratches on his extended hand and about his face and ears.

A final sooty puff rises from the road as one small body oozed off a distant roof with a plop.

If anyone needed proof that the Doctor was not human they have it. The Tam scion hopes the others don't notice that the pale man's scratches are too russet in tone to be fresh for a human. The cut hand disappears into a pocket, as if the fellow has heard Simon's thoughts. River twists and throws her bloodied arms around one of the Time Lord's legs like she's regressed to a toddler's age, clinging and shaking. The pale man's hairless fingers brush through her tangled raven locks. He gives Simon a haunted look. His sister's face is hidden but he's willing to bet that her expression would be much the same.

Simon doesn't care that River prefers the Doctor's comfort to his own. She's alive. That's all that matters.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Imam finds himself shaking. He looks at Ali, "Is that where you almost went?" The boy looks as though he might become ill, as if he's realized that the strange, pale, man hadn't been guessing about him meeting his death. Tears fill his dark eyes and he nods. Abu sends up a prayer of thanks that the Doctor had been there to catch the boy. The holy man places a shaking hand on the thin neck and pulls Ali into his side in a hug. The child lets out a quiet sob and buries his face into the Imam's robes. "Don't do anything like that again. Life is too precious to cast aside, Ali." He knows the boy is listening and won't be so stupid again.

Abu looks over at the docking pilot who has one hand on Jack's shoulder and the other clutched in Dr. Tam's grip. The blonde looks shell shocked and tired. She takes a deep breath of relief though and slowly lets go of Simon so that he can check on his sister.

The green-eyed boy is staring at the road littered with piles of alien shaped ash. He's got a stunned look of horror on his face. "That – _that_ was what killed Shazza and Zeke?" he gasps out. Behind him Richard takes up a protective stance that makes Johns scowl.

"Those were hatchlings," the Doctor's voice caries across the quiet, "roosting where the adults couldn't reach them."

The redhead pushed past Abu and Carolyn, "So it should be safe now, right?"

"I don't think there is anything in there that we have to see," Paris cautions.

"No? What was that you said, Rich? Oh, right – '_the coring room_' – as in the settlers are here someplace. Let's just be sure, shall we?" The merc walked past Simon, River and the Doctor on his trek to the coring room entrance. He reached the twin doors and pulled on one. The chains rattle. He raises an eyebrow, "Why's the door chained up? Why the hell did they lock this door and no others? And why from the inside?"

"Ghosts," River says in a breathless undertone, "Screaming." Simon is trying to treat one trembling bloody arm while she clings to a jean-clad leg with the other. He pauses and brushes his fingers over her soot and tear stained cheek.

Fry looks from River's spooked expression to Johns then makes a face at Imam, "Wait, Johns -- " But she's interrupted by the sound of his shotgun as he blasts the chain off. The large heavy slabs creak open like they were installed backwards or crooked. Carolyn tries again, "Johns, _wait_."

"What? You trust 'im, don't you, _Captain_? What do we have to lose here, huh?" Johns turns to look into the brightly lit room, now that the ceiling is busted out and the storm shutters are open. Standing in the middle of the huge cluttered chamber is a vertical coring drill. It's a huge piece of machinery. The multi-story building is open all the way to the top of the clear dome, save for layers of rafters holding in the perimeter. Counters, cabinets, workstations cluttered with equipment, fieldwork notes, and samples line the space. It looks like there's years worth of undisturbed dust settled over everything.

Between two counters near the back of the room is a largish break in the Aluminex siding where something about the same size as a ten or twelve year-old boy had pried the seams apart with razor sharp claws. Sunlight slanted through it creating a bright patch on the slightly shadowed floor. Johns stepped further into the berth. In spite his bravado there's something not _right_ about this room. He just can't place his finger on it yet. Behind him Abu hands Ali off to Hassan, telling the boys to not enter and steps in off to the side. Johns spies several doors that are squeezed in between the worktables. He circles and one of the doors rattles as he steps closer.

"Marshal," The Doctor's voice has a strong commanding ring to it, "Please step back to the main portal."

Johns looks over, about to argue when Fry says, "Johns! Just _do_ it." He sees that she's not willing to enter. _Coward_.

But he has figured out what bothers him about this room. Under the layer dust on the metallic floor are deep rusty brown and blackish blue splatters. A great many of them. And he's seen what hand-to-hand combat looks like, and how blood splatters when a blunt objects hits a body with enough force. These look similar, although decades old. He hates that Riddick was right.

"Oh, y_es_ ma'am," he replies, flinging the handle on the rattling door, throwing it open. A smaller hoard of razor-winged hatchlings squeals past him, and if it weren't for Imam literally pulling him to the floor, Johns would've come up missing an ear. There's a high pitched whine off by where the others are standing the makes the burning, tiny, black-skinned leather-winged aliens brave the beating sun to dive down the core shaft. Their unearthly sounds slowly vanish from the air as the echoes bounce back at the group long after the last of the forms are gone.

The merc gains his feet quickly and pushes the holy man away. After a lengthy shocked silence Fry screams out, "Just what the _Fuck_ do you think you are doing, Johns?"

"Cleanin' out the supply room?" he says nonchalantly as he brushes past her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Against a blue sunset, the Imam leads a group of the survivors in prayer. They are settled on the edge of the buildings on prayer rugs with their beads and holy books, incense and blessed water, spread out among them. With no clear direction to face the worshipers gather in a circle, as there are more than just four of them. Hassan, Suleiman, and Ali are joined by Simon, Paris, and Jack. Maybe it's a good thing for the kid to get some faith, Rich thinks, as he watches Jack stumble through the book he's sharing with his friend Ali.

Maybe it would've been good for their _captain_, too. She's in sore need of some faith, right now. However, making someone go through the motions ain't no way to make them believe. He's not going to tell the gutsy blonde that she needs God, hell no. God is a bastard if he ever knew one, anyhow. And Carolyn's got faith, really. It's just a bit on the low side at the moment. Fry is busy at work on the skiff, carefully removing systems that must be replaced in hopes that some of the parts can be salvaged. If she's lucky then that alone will restore her.

The Doctor and Riddick work on the sandcat while a bandaged River watches them intently, often handing them the next tool they need before they ask for it. Johns has vanished like – a ghost, but the ex-ranger knows his blue-eyed-devil is around somewhere. Riddick doesn't need to pray. He suspects that the alien doesn't want to pray. And River… maybe she's communing with God all the time and thus prayer is redundant for her.

They've been awake for two days straight. Soon folks are gonna have to sleep. He wonders if the Doctor needs to. He thinks that they are going to have to set guards up to keep each other from stabbing backs. He knows if he catches Johns napping while the alien is sleeping that he'll slit the redhead's throat, no questions asked. He also knows that if Johns catches the Doctor unaware and unguarded that he'll find some way to end him. The look in the merc's eye hasn't changed.

And he's pretty sure that the kids are on Johns hit list too, because that skiff is too small for everyone and Johns wants to make sure that _he's_ on it when it leaves. Riddick's not sure how many of them will fit on the boat, as the merc kept him away from it. But the Doctor would know, "So the Skiff – looks kinda small."

"Um, yes. It's a six-seater with room for a pilot and copilot. No cryo, and short range."

Now that don't sound good. Not at all. But he's unsure of what to ask with River right there, so he stays silent for a while and thinks it over, "Can the cryo system from the crash be used?"

"Oh, it's possible. Not – well, I need to look closely at the technology before I say."

Vague as hell, that's what he's gettin' here. He looks at the brown-haired man who is up to his currently bare elbows in engine grease; "I wanna know, whatever it is. If you don't think this Skiff is gonna work then we need to find another way."

Those intense eyes meet his even through the impossibly dark goggles. Rich could fall into them and never surface if he's not careful, because that's how old and wise and powerful those eyes are. The Doctor seems to know how he's feeling too, because those eyes glint in amusement and crinkle at the corners making him look almost human for a moment, "As soon as I know, I'll pass it on."


	17. Part Seventeen Candor

**A/N: **_Ooooh, reviews. Luv them little bits of feedback. __**;-)**__ Thanks to Robin Moto (who says she has trouble doing single chapter reviews but is managing here nicely, hehe), My Reflection, ck16, and alphaskiier.__  
About the Doctor's filtering: It's not so much that he can't block out the dead, but that he does so for himself to such a great degree that he doesn't realize River senses the impressions left behind until after. Remember, he knows Time, past, present, and future, so deals with death all the while. Just not the way River sees it. And note: the scene with the hatchlings takes place outside the coring room. I figured the little beasties didn't know any better… Yep, that Skiff is a bit of a problem. But then, nah… I'll let you read it. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past…

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Seventeen

Candor

The vehicle, a solar sand-cat, is a mess of wire and parts seemingly thrown together with little regard to efficiency. There's a sturdy frame, roll cage, driver's seat, back bed area with benches, and a tow hitch. All this besides the solar power unit, and an engine that could haul a ton over the rough desert world with little problem, or would if the power from the solar unit was being captured and transmitted with any degree of finesse.

Not to say that the current system doesn't work, but that it doesn't work as well as it might. It's been years since the Doctor has worked with human gadgets, but he fondly remembers his little yellow car. This 'cat, while looking totally different, has a similar feel. It's just that he can't keep himself from _fixing_ it… Which means, of course, that it's taking him longer to get it running than it would have if he'd left it alone. _Humans_. He loves so much about them, but they are so wasteful sometimes.

The goggled man staunchly alters what he is told to change even when it's clear that the part, wire, gizmo… is not going back in the way it came out. He's still doing that _trusting_ thing. The Time Lord has graced him with smiles, wry chuckles at some of his expressions (which Riddick thinks are all the same but somehow the other man can tell the difference), and even a slight sing-song mumble or two that the ex-ranger is beginning to think are native language swear words. Frankly, he's enjoying himself so much that he doesn't even realize how fast time is passing until Simon comes up and removes a sleeping River from off the toolbox and carries her inside. It's peaking at noon of the twin sun day.

The Doctor picks up a rag and wipes his hands, "What about a break? Some food and refreshment, perhaps." Those hands of his wipe quite clean, like there's no rough spots to catch and hold the dirt. Riddick snags another cloth and follows suit, but his hands don't wipe as clean.

The 'refreshment' that Rich wants has more to do with ghosting Johns than eating or drinking but since he can't have that, he'll settle for watching the alien's back. "Sounds like a plan," he rumbles. They move away from the scattered parts that the vehicle is composed of and into the sun. The noon yellow-ruddy light makes the Doctor look ethereal, even without the Jacket. Riddick frowns and circles back to retrieve it. "Don't forget your coat, Doc."

The look he gets is part thanks and part annoyance as he hands the leather over. The alien slips it on without really thinking about his actions, "Don't call me Doc. You are calling Simon 'Doc' already and it will lead to confusion."

They walk about half a block in silence, as Rich thinks about that statement. He's fairly positive that the Doctor is upset about his shortening the title to 'Doc' and not because it is how he refers to the Tam boy. But how to make it up to him? There's only one thing he can think of that might make it better, "Sure. How about – Bob?" It's a joke, not a very good one, but what he's seen so far of the alien's humor is that he's easy to amuse, most times.

"Never gone by _Bob_, actually." There's light laughter in that musical voice. Riddick considers the flub corrected.

Keeping the tone, the bronze skinned man replies, "Nah, Doctor is better. It suits you." He gets a slight pat on the arm as they reach the cafeteria and the Doctor opens the door for him. Now that is startling. But then the gent keeps surprising the con with these little acts of kindness, and he isn't used to them. "Look, we should clear the air," Riddick says seriously.

The dining hall is empty, most of the survivors have chosen to sleep, apparently, while the twin stars are in the sky and it's fractionally cooler. Or they are just plain exhausted from their ordeal. In either case, no one is about, so it is safe to talk normally. Or so Rich hopes. He's been so very curious about this fellow, and he is sure that the odd crate he ran into during the crash belonged to the Doctor. They smelled similar, like the Doctor's scent was permeated through the wood by contact and time. And he's sure that if the gent had gotten on at the last port he would have known it. The exotic odor that comes with the man makes him very traceable, to Riddick's nose at least.

"About what, Richard?" The Doctor asks with polite curiosity as moves over to the cooking area. The impression he gives is one of a chief looking at ingredients as he shuffles through the offerings. But the Doctor had a reason for wanting to eat, and he's hoping for something that can take the edge off his longing. He sighs. There's nothing there that will ease his craving for good old-fashioned London chips, so he tries to find something that might appeal to the other man.

Riddick watches him, quietly, until the Doctor settles on a couple of packets and begins to skillfully turn the freeze-dried, not quite edible, pseudo-food, rations into something more appealing. "Things," he shrugs. "You know, like that little doohickey in your pocket, or the skiff, or that odd box -- Or maybe you, yourself? And me. I've been trusting you, you said you trusted me, but I know nothing about you."

The Doctor pauses slightly in his movements, then swirls the hydrated what-ever-it-is from the bowl he was soaking it in to the pan warming in the hotplate as he listens to the words being spoken. He hides his stiffened posture very well, but Riddick can see it, anyhow. He wants to rush over and take the questions back. But he stops himself. He needs to know. The sparsely haired fellow keeps himself moving, preparing food that quickly smells really quite good. "Loaded questions, those," he mumbles in his quaintly accented English. The ex-ranger crosses the room slowly and moves up behind the other man. He's close enough to block any attempt at running, but far enough back to not hinder the food preparation.

"I could start with what I've deducted." He watches the leather clad shoulders jerk up then fall one time, not quite casually. "Like the fact that your average body temperature is about two-thirds that of a human's, or that your blood is the wrong color," the danger of this path makes Riddick's honor buzz, but he can't help himself. "Or I could mention that you smell different than anyone else I've ever met."

The Doctor can feel the tiny, ghostly hairs on the back of his neck rise at the sheer animal power that the other fellow excludes. It's not fear that makes his hearts skip a beat, or his breath threaten to catch in his throat. The savage nature of the muscular man cannot be denied, just as Leela could never be tamed, even after she adopted his world as her own. He has to wonder if this sensation he's feeling now was what led Andred to falling in love with her. Now, why does this man keep calling up his old companion?

"It seems then that you know a fair bit about me, after all." The other man turns, setting the food off the hotplate. Riddick lifts his goggles and looks at the Doctor. The taller man's expression is fairly blank, and it's impossible to tell if he's upset or angered by the direction this is going or not. "How about a trade? I answer a question and then you answer a question."

There's no time limit here, the bronze man notes. He's only asking for equal access, after all. "It's a deal."

The Doctor sidesteps, picking up the food and two plates. Riddick blinks at the very soft, genuine smile that the other man just bathed him in. Why does it feel like he's sold his soul? "Would you like water with this?" the other man asks. Rich nods and allows himself be steered to the table.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Carolyn feels like her life is out of control. It's been that way for a very long time. She's so tired of it. Maybe its time for a change? But she loves being a pilot. Even after the crash, she can't wait to get back into space. Being planet bound feels like her wings are clipped. And this world is hot, dry and just plain exhausting. Um, that theme keeps coming up. '_Hell, I'm just tired_,' she thinks, as a yawn threatens to split her face. Time to stop stripping out the wiring before she messes up something.

She steps out of the skiff and wanders back to the orrey. It's still spinning, and as long as the window is open it will do so. She watches as the painted clear ring of the gas giant brushes through the light of the bulb representing the blue star and creates a banded shadow on the back wall. It's there and gone, just a split second of dimness. Fry knits her brows and frowns.

There's something about that, troublesome in it's implications, which she's too weary to puzzle out at the moment. Another yawn forces its way out of her. She scrubs her face with her hands. Time to get a nap.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He could say that he'd been tricked… but he had learned that the doohickey the Doctor kept with him was something called a 'Sonic Screwdriver' and that the gent considered it the most valued of possessions, next to the key-pendant he wore around his neck under his shirt. The Doctor even showed him a bit of what he could do with the thing. Riddick suspected that there was more, that it was like one of those old Swiss-Army-knives with a hundred-and-one tools alongside the blade.

Now he found himself explainin' his eyes, in far more detail and with much more truth than he'd ever admitted to before. He mentioned the visions he suffered because it was impossible to relate how the change happened without that background. Visions that seemed to show horrors that no one need ever see at any age. And of course he had to explain the most persistent ones in detail, because somehow it was related, even if he didn't see the logic in that.

He talked about his fall into the Pit at Butcher Bay and shows off the still fresh scar on his arm. He mentioned the voice, telling him that he'd been blind too long and that his world was going to become more colorful. How the extrasensory vision he'd gained helped him escape from the slam, and that Johns had been there. That he'd almost killed the merc before, twice, and not been able to do it for one reason or another. And then how he'd found Cutter at Ursa Luna's Slam City where there were 'shiners' with fake nightvision, the 'eyeshine'. He'd panicked a bit and had his eyes shined because the other extrasensory vision scared him. He had needed and wanted to cover it up. It had cost him his color sight, but at least he couldn't be pegged as non-human.

The entire time the Doctor listens quietly, glancing at him when he pauses with an expectant air that the ex-ranger can't deny. Admitting fear is a huge thing to him, and Rich has to study the floor for a while until he can get his cheeks to stop flaming from the embarrassment of it.

The Doctor's quiet voice centers him, "Quite a tale there." Riddick frowns and looks at the alien, wondering if the fellow believes him. And he can tell, for once in his life, that someone does. "Troublesome, in so many ways, what you've told me. But the questions are up for now, unless you want to ask another."

Rich does, but he's not sure what depth that his soul is going to be plumbed for in retaliation. He feels comfortable around this man, no denying that. But he's never been that open with anyone since he was knee high and got his fingers nearly broken for telling a lie that wasn't. Visions and portents weren't something to share, in his experience. Now, though, maybe that could change. Maybe he'd figure out what they meant. The Doctor is sitting on the bench across from him, with his back to the next table, just as he is. "I've got so many questions, Doctor, that I don't know where to start. Part of me wants to know_ everything_, but then I've always been that way. I've learned, though, that asking questions gets you very dead."

"You are a smart man. I've got faith that you'll work through this minefield sooner or later." The Doctor went to stand up.

"So, do you have an _embarrassing_ childhood nickname?" Riddick tosses out. He's not expecting an answer, really.

Instead he gets a laugh, "Yes, but if I tell you what it is then you have to share yours."

"Ah, mine was Dickie. No big deal."

The smirk he gets makes Rich think that perhaps the Time Lord isn't gonna share, then the man surprises him, "Snail. Alright?" He rubs his nose with the side of his hand.

Riddick raises an eyebrow, "Snail?"

"Yes. Please don't repeat it."

There has to be a story behind that, "Why 'Snail'?"

The Doctor pauses, "Oh, well… I had a deformity that most of my people lack, and one of my cousins thought it looked like a snail shell. The name stuck until I went away to school."

"Mine is just a play on my name. Yours is much more interesting."

"And if you ever call me by it I _will_ fuse your lips together," the Doctor threatens with a teasing smile.

That he can live with. "You don't call me Dickie, I won't call you Snail," He lets the chuckles overtake him. Soon the Doctor has joined him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Blue sunrise, and Fry does not feel like crawling back into the electrical of the Skiff, yet. Instead she's ventured into the Coring Room and is looking at the samples, trying to understand what the settlers were trying to do here. It's as the Doctor suggested, with the bulk of eight years worth of samples stored in the supply rooms on rows of special shelving. The last couple of months worth of samples are arranged in order by date along the workspaces in the coring room proper.

The notes are filled with technical babble that goes right over her head. But it is clear that they were looking for something here, not just drilling for the fun of it. She rubs her forehead and puts the yellow stained sheets of rough notes back in the pile they came out of. Someone, like the Doctor perhaps, might make more sense of this than she could.

She is at the next to the last table, looking at the excited scrawl in one notebook, when Johns, Simon, Imam, and the Doctor come into the room. "But I'm telling you, Abu, that making a reversed polarized circuit can double efficiency without increasing the load on the system," the Doctor is saying.

"And you can do this?"

"Of course I can."

Behind the Doctor stood Riddick, listening to the technical jargon. Carolyn looked at him, "So, you think the geologists are here, somewhere?"

He tilts his head at her and walked forward. With a motion he indicated the coring shaft. Fry ambles over and peers into the hole with a frown. The depths are hidden in darkness. Johns takes a percussion flare off his belt and pops it against his hip in a practiced motion. The green glowing light that settles at the bottom of the shaft illuminates a stone floor littered with human skeletons, picked clean and scattered about. There are all sizes down there, from adult to young child. Fry squeezes her eyes closed and backs away, feeling dizzy.

Riddick's voice rolls over her, "Other buildings weren't secure..." he pauses and looks over at 'Snail' and let's some of his previous humor cushion him from his own harsh words, "...so they ran here. Heaviest doors. Thought they'd be safe inside, but -- someone forget to lock the cellar." The Doctor walks up beside the con and looks over at the remains with narrowed eyes. He knew the bodies had to be here someplace, because of River, but he'd hoped that some of them had gotten away on other Skiffs. A single eight-man ship for thirty settlers seems very crass. And he can count thirty skulls down there. He and Rich share a glance and an emotion. They are both pissed off, on one level or another.

Carolyn has backed up to the last table near the door, her hand settles on a thick tag of worn card stock and she picks it up. Anything will work for a distraction from the sight burned into her mind's eye.

"Right, fine. I say we put this building off limits. Let's board this up and get the hell gone. Those things seem to stick to the dark, so if we stick to daylight, should be all --" Johns began.

The docking pilot is staring at the date on the card, and then turns to look at the sample it came off of. She looks at the chrono she's taken off Owens' body to remember him by, and does the math. Now that is _odd_, "Twenty-two years ago."

"Wha'?" the marshal asks.

"All these core-samples are dated. The last one is from twenty-two years ago. This month." Fry repeats, looking again at the card.

Johns scoffs, "Somethin' special about that, Carolyn?"

"There _might_ be…" the blonde says, her mind bringing up that image of the rings highlighted in blue against a metal wall. She takes a deep breath and then darts out of the room. _Oh, no… no, no, no!_

Abu is right on her heels, Simon and the Doctor are behind them, and Johns pauses long enough to scowl at Riddick. The ex-ranger motions for Johns to walk out first, gaining another dark look in the process. Ahead of them, Carolyn throws the doors open to the room where the orrey is.

By the time Johns enters the room, Fry has pried open the drive box and is hand cranking the main gear, causing the orbits of the simulated system to fly by. The counter clicks eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. And the planets swing, like magic, into a line blocking off the suns from the little yellow sphere in the middle.

There's a collective gasp.

Abu clears his throat and kneels down. He pushes the gear just a bit more, causing the counter to click twenty-three, twenty-four, and then back again. The system stays locked into its line, leaving the planet they are on in total persistent night. Behind them Paris enters the room with a herd of youngsters around him, "What is going on?"

He's ignored.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Johns says with amazement.

"You're not scared of the dark, are you?" a gravely voice asks.


	18. Part Eighteen Gamble

**A/N: **_First off, I want to say that the Doctor's childhood nickname comes from the book __Lungbarrow__ by Marc Platt. I didn't just pull it out of a hat somewhere. (Heh, I knew someone would ask about that. __**:-D **__). His Cousin Innocet (who becomes the new HouseWife after the Doctor becomes the Kithriarch of Lungbarrow) gave him the name as a term of endearment when he was a child. 'Snail' is a reference to the fact that the Doctor was Loomed with a bellybutton. 'Wormhole' is another name he's given by other Cousins, who disliked him, for the same deformity. Most Gallifreyans don't have bellybuttons because they don't need connections to a womb during gestation (see page 3 of chapter 21; and page 6 of chapter 22; and page 9 of chapter 23 of the e-book at BBC's Classic Doctor Who page)._  
'_Dickie' on the other hand I did just make up. __**;-)**  
Is Riddick an alien? He doesn't know. He's different, yes. Does the Doctor know? Yeah likely, but he's used to dealing with aliens that look human. Remember Nyssa? Leela was different, not a normal human, either. She was the product of a breeding experiment that the Doctor inadvertently started. As for the bioraptors… well, that's coming.  
Welcome to LoStorico, who has placed this on 'Story Alert' (my thanks to you).  
Thanks for the reviews to My Reflection, Robin Moto, mirth513, and ck16. Have I told you how awesome all my reviewers are?_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past…

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Eighteen

Gamble

Mysteries one through some huge number had been solved. The settlers had been caught here in the dark, twenty-two years ago after living here for over eight years. They must have had some warning; otherwise they wouldn't have had time to prep their ship. But something had kept them from actually leaving and the batteries had run dry.

_Eclipse. Flesh eating natives. No lights to make a 'fake day' to keep them away._ Yes, that explained a great deal.

The survivors had another problem, however, not that they wanted to become snacks for the local wildlife, but like those here before them, they knew the skiff was too small for the entire party. Some of them wouldn't be leaving. Carolyn Fry was finding that it was an issue that she was avoiding, something she didn't want to deal with on top of everything else. How to decide? How to make it so that those left behind had a chance until help could be found?

They knew now that they had limited time in which to do anything to correct the problem. But they did have resources that the settlers lacked. There were the cryo-lockers, and maybe there were enough of them and the remaining system to fit ten people into the skiff. They had the crash ship's lighting. They had power. The settlement relied totally on solar energy. There wasn't a battery in sight except for the six dry fifteen-gig cells. While this worked for the current conditions here, they were facing a lengthy, maybe even a two-year, blackout.

No Sun meant no energy. How much could they run off the power cells left on the _Hunter-Gratzner_? Of course, they meant to leave as soon as they were able. Sticking around for two years was out of the question. Absolutely, totally, out of the question. But they might have to live here for a month or more in darkness as she tried to get the skiff to work. _Oh, God –_ The very idea of it made her feel sick. She pushed it aside and focused on what they did have. There was a lot at the crash site yet, and the other cargo bays might have something too, if they had the time to find them.

Part of Carolyn wanted to just run right back to the crash ship and drag the entire thing to the settlement. Right. That would not work. She needed things to start moving now, quickly. _Why had she stopped and slept? Why?_

_It_ could happen tomorrow, or three weeks from now, the model was imprecise about that. Carolyn knew she couldn't get the skiff ready in time. They might be able to haul in into the hanger, move the food supplies and such into there, put up salvaged lights from the crash and buy themselves some time. Or they could just be delaying a certain death. '_No, one thing at a time_,' she ordered herself.

The docking pilot that everyone saw as the captain looked over the shocked and mystified faces of the survivors. Young as ten, old as the middle fifties, all counting on her twenty-five-year old shoulders. She wanted to hand this weight off to someone else, to go back to being a follower. She was never meant to lead, and she knows it. Even Riddick, for God's sake, would make a better leader than she is.

At least Jack knows that, from the looks of things, with his shaved head and yellow swim goggles proclaiming silently exactly whom he's following here. Her eyes roamed over the other boys, dressed in their traditional Arabic robes and turbans. Perfect clothing for this environment, really. They would follow the mahogany-skinned Imam, who was looking to her for guidance here as much as he looked to God. Among the boys, decked out in his orange and rust silks, was Olgivie. He followed only himself, siding with whatever path seemed to lead to profit. Or currently survival.

Entering with that group is River. Her raven hair has been brushed, but she's still dressed in the ravaged-edge tunic, her arms wrapped in bandages because she refused the Derma-heal. It's clear that the girl knows, with a single glance, exactly what they have discovered and is there to comfort her brother. Simon has discarded his black vest and is wearing only his white button down shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, waist un-tucked from his black pants. He's not looking to Fry for clues; instead he follows someone else.

Someone in a charcoal tee and a leather jacket. She turned and caught a blue-eyed stare that was intense and unsettling. Every line of the man's face was bursting with barely controlled power. This – this was the person they should be following. But the Doctor wasn't trying to lead either. Instead he was allowing them to bumble through the situation, or trying to observe them for some other purpose. _Who was he? Why was he here? _

But Fry had more immediate concerns, "Is the sand-cat working?"

"It will be, give me two hours. I do however think that there are some larger issues to deal with."

"Besides racing time without knowing exactly how much we have?" the docking pilot asks. She gets a look that reads, '_Who is escaping and who is staying?_' and the fact that she can read that expression drives home the fact that they won't all fit on the skiff no matter what she does. Carolyn opens her mouth, looks toward Paris and the children, and closes it without saying anything.

"This is not the time to get into it," Imam says. "Let us all focus on the task at hand. Captain, what should we do?"

_God_. They _are_ counting on her to know how to survive this. It's just like Johns said back in the boneyard. _Shit_. She's not sure if she can do this._ Okay. One step at a time, don't think too much and focus on one thing at a time_. It's a mantra that she keeps repeating in her mind to keep the panic at bay. Carolyn thinks aloud, "If the suns are blocked tomorrow, we'll have to have a defensible location. We'll need as much of the crates, furniture, what have you, moved around to protect ourselves." She looks around, "The Coring Room is out. And I need a place to work on the Skiff. I'm suggesting that we focus on making the Hanger as solid as we can. All of the supplies should be located there. Fill up all of the emergency water containers, and store them there. If the eclipse happens with the next sunrise we'll need everything where we can get to it."

"Eclipse?" says Paris.

"Yes, and there's no time to waste." Fry takes off out the door with a burst of energy. "Johns, you're with me!" she calls. The redhead jumps out of whatever daze he had retreated to and sprints out after her.

"Eclipse?" the art dealer repeats.

Imam turns to Ali and Jack, "Take Mr. Olgivie and gather up all foodstuffs, medical and personal supplies, blankets, rags, what have you and move them into the Hanger. Now." Jack gives the holy man a serious nod and takes Paris' hand. Ali grabs the other one and the two boys tug the man away.

"Richard, why don't you help Hassan and Suleiman move crates? I spotted an old hydraulic lift that will make the task easier." The Doctor said. "In the meantime, I'll get the 'cat put back together." Riddick nods and motions for the two older pilgrims to follow him.

Simon looks at Abu, "How can River and I help?"

"There's a hand truck that we can move furniture with. I will assist you. Perhaps focus on beds for each of us first then whatever else we can move that might prove convertible into defensive measures."

Carolyn hears the others behind her scatter out of the room with the orrey, "We're going to need to figure out what should come over first, right?" she says back to Johns.

The marshal says, "Yeah? I mean, sure. What you want me to do?"

"Help me organize, Johns." She looks back at the redhead, "There's so much to do still, you've been in bad situations, chasing men like Riddick. What would you do to survive in a situation like this? There's no way that we'll be rescued before the eclipse occurs."

Williams caught the docking pilot by the arm, "And the rewire?"

"Depends. Might take a week, might take a month, or longer. Look, I'm doing everything I can, here."

"You need to focus on the Skiff, Carolyn. I'll look over the hanger for weak spots. We'll need a power supply. Too bad these geologists didn't have a generator. Just… I'm leery of having too much in one place with Riddick free."

She narrowed her eyes at Johns. "We'll need all the power cells from the crash ship, as soon as possible. We don't want to get caught outside when the eclipse happens."

"But what if we bring 'em over as we need 'em? Like one for the stove, one for the water, and so on, but wait to bring over the seven we'll need to launch?" Johns said.

"Why? Why make more trips then we'll need to? We can wagon train the trailers and fill everything up as soon as the sand cat is ready to roll."

Johns steered her over to a location where he could see Riddick in the distance loading up crates onto a hydraulic lift, "Let's wait on the power cells. Bring over everything else we need but the final cell." He keeps his blue eyes glued to the ex-ranger.

"Wait for what? Until it's so dark we can't even find our way back to -- "

He switches his gaze back to her; "We're not sure _when_ it happens, so let's not -- "

Fry glares, "I'm trusting you. _Get the fucking cells over here_, Johns. Take Imam, Riddick, the Doctor, I don't care who goes, just make sure that _every damn cell_ is brought with you when you come back. I'll run the physical hull check. Once you return we can patch the wings." He went to open his mouth in protest, "Not up for discussion! Just for once do as I'm asking."

He stares back at her for a moment and once he's sure she is not going to yell again he says, "Ever tell you how Riddick escaped?"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

River has gone with Simon. She knows he feels left behind a bit because of her connection, however accidental, with the storm. He's also feeling numb and condemned by the situation that they can do nothing about. But the Doctor has a plan, and staying is part of it. Simon needs this experience, to grow. She just hopes he survives it.

The work doesn't leave much time to think, but she knows that maintaining her emotional interdependence with her brother is very important, so she chooses to be with him now instead of the Doctor. At least the ghosts are quiet. They are moving cots, picking them up and carrying them outside. She discovers that the frames fold; "Simon." He looks at her. She gives him a significant look and with a click condenses her end of the frame leaving the thin mattress off-center.

He laughs. "Well, that makes this easier. Let's stack the mattresses and fold the frames."

She shakes her head and transfers her end to the ground so she can move the mattress to the hand truck. By the time Imam catches up with them they have the frames folded, the mattresses together, the shelving apart and stacked, and are about to head into the next room. Abu snags the filled hand truck and wheels it out. "Subsequent residence?" she asks.

"Yes," Simon drapes an arm over her shoulder and hugs her.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

It takes the Doctor less than a quarter of an hour to put the parts back together to make the sandcat run. He can't locate Carolyn or William right off the bat, and that bothers him. He pulls the 'cat around to the first trailer and hooks it to the tow hitch. And since he doesn't spot Fry and Johns still, he proceeds to have Jack, Ali and Paris load the trailer up.

As he hauls the entire thing over to the Hanger the Doctor notes that around him others are working too. "Load the trailers, I'll come by and haul them over," he calls out to Simon. Abu and he begin piling cots and bulky but lightweight frames into the various flatbeds.

Rich pulls up along side the 'cat and hops on the side rail while hanging onto the lift. It's dangerous but much faster than walking the stack of crates over. "Seen my blue-eyed Devil around?" he asks over the rattle of the load.

"No. And I've been looking for him." The Doctor slows the 'cat and lets the first load off.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Carolyn is sitting in the pilot's chair, surrounded by the evidence of her work, open panels, exposed wires, and things hanging from the ceiling. William sits in the co-pilot chair. She's trying to absorb what he's told her, "He can pilot?"

The redhead nods, "Hijacked a prison transport outta Ursa Luna's Slam City. Made a helluva good run 'fore I tracked him down." Johns isn't going to mention them leaving Butcher Bay together in the prison boss's personal ship or the adventure they had after.

"Okay, maybe that's a _good_ thing. Maybe I can use him to help with navigation or -- " The docking pilot attempts to find a silver lining to the situation. She needs some hope here. She wants to keep her trust in Riddick, for some reason it's valuable to the man and that makes it more important to her.

Johns is shaking his head at her, "He also figured out how to kill the pilot, Carolyn."

Talk about a bubble-burster. But then Riddick said he'd killed people, he'd admitted to it. She accepts that, doesn't she? It's part of who Rich is. Fry frowns at the redhead, "You said we were going to trust him now. You said there was a deal." She's getting the feeling that maybe the marshal isn't so much on the up and up.

"That's what I said." His expression is blank. Not denying the truth of the words but not saying he stands behind them either. Oh, that really makes her wonder about his motivations. Hell, not just wonder, but to be actively frightened by. It's not too hard a stretch to figure out what he's thinking.

He means to trick the bronze-skinned man and haul him back to slam once they get off this planet. She takes in a shocked breath, "Oh, this is a dangerous game you're playing, Johns." She has promised to trust the ex-ranger, and part of her trust has to be to tell him what is afoot. But she can't let Johns know which side she wants to stand on. Not yet.

"May've noticed chains don't work on this guy," the marshal tells her. "Only way we're truly safe is if he believes he's goin' free. But if he _stops_ believin' -- "

"You mean, if he learns that you're gonna royally fuck him over?" Fry blurts out. Inside she's filled with a mixture of anger and horror. Who exactly is the bad guy here? Somehow she can't see Riddick pulling this kind of shit.

Johns keeps talking, right over her question, "We need a fail-safe. Bring the cells over at the last possible minute – when the wings are ready, when the rewire is finished, when we _know_ we're ready to launch."

"No matter that people are gonna die if we venture out into that desert in the dark, Johns? Are you insane?" She finds that she's looking at him with a new paradigm. Her entire world just shifted. And Johns fingering his gun doesn't help flip it back.

"We don't know that."

"Don't we? Shazza and Zeke are dead. Thirty settlers died the last time. I think we damn well do _know_ that. And furthermore, Riddick hasn't harmed any of us. Far as I can tell, he hasn't even lied to us." She leans back into the seat, "Just stick to the deal, Johns. Let him go if that's what it -- "

The marshal does more than finger his gun; he points it at her. There's a blaze in his eyes that makes her very, very scared. "He's a_ murderer_. A merc-killer. You have no idea how high his body count is or how many people I've seen him take out personally. The animal deserves to be in Slam, and the law says he's gotta do his bid."

She can't maintain that eye contact. Instead she shakes her head and looks off through the skiff's window. She can see that the 'cat is running and that the Doctor is putting it to good use. "Dancin' on razor blades here..." she mumbles. Not just about his double-cross but she's less than a hair away from revealing her own feelings about it. Johns is no normal marshal out of Conga escorting a prisoner to Tangiers no matter what he told Merritt when he got on the _Hunter-Gratzner_.

Johns doesn't hear her, or doesn't care to. "I won't give him a chance to grab another ship -- or to slash another pilot's throat. Not on my watch."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The kids hop out of the back and Riddick off the side as soon as the 'cat halts. Paris climbs out slower, but begins grabbing stuff to carry inside. The Doctor unhooks the trailer and walks over to the skiff, just in time to see the docking pilot and marshal exit. The redhead gives him a glare, which he pointedly ignores. "Shall we haul the Skiff inside before taking a trip back to the crash site?" he asks.

Fry walks right over to the Doctor, half hugging herself as Johns storms off another direction. "I want to talk, alone. Can Abu drive the 'cat?" The Doctor gives her a curious look and nods. He's positive that the Imam can drive the vehicle just fine. Carolyn glances back toward Johns' last direction, her cheeks losing color as she remembers his actions in the skiff. "How about in the Cafeteria Office, in -- say 5 ticks?"

"I'll tell Abu to take Riddick and the boys to the crash site and fill up a trailer or three and meet you there." The Doctor says.

"Tell him to grab the power cells and lights, all right?"

He catches her eye and nods.


	19. Part Nineteen Discord

**A/N:**_ Hey there readers, reviewers, fans… I want to remind you that I love the feedback. Thanks to ck16, Robin Moto, and My Reflection for the encouraging words.  
Yes, Carolyn sides against Johns. Is she on Riddick's side or just the side Riddick seems to be on? Notice that she's not scared of him from the start. She looks into his eyes and is fascinated like a child looking at a panther (hey, some of us are not scared of that kind of predator). Plus she promised to 'trust in him' in exchange for that long look into his soul. Johns, on the other hand, scares her.  
This is about were the point is that I start to really move off the beaten path of the Pitch Black movie. I asked myself some 'What if' questions when I went to write this. Some of these questions have become major plot points. For this chapter I'll tell you one of the 'what if' things that became a major plot changer: What if the Skiff's electrical couldn't 'convert' easily like it did in the movie? So here, the skiff isn't just a "slap in some new batteries and go" kinda deal. They have some serious work ahead of them to make it operate. And they have the Doctor. Will they all survive? _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. He finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

500 years in the future, something has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Some of those leaving Earth behind view the world as nearly a myth. Others know better. In fleeing Earth-that-Was humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Lets just imagine then that Blue Sun exists on the opposite side of this galactic arm from the rest of civilized space, and that one ship is taking a ghost run through the long route. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Nineteen

Discord

The Doctor had, as promised, gotten most of the survivors off to the crash site. Since Riddick had not known where Johns was, he'd opted to stay with Simon and River in the settlement, using the hydraulic lift to move crates, dressers, what-have-you, over to the Hanger while the 'cat and it's attendant trailers were otherwise occupied. The Time Lord had decided that it was wiser to not force the ex-ranger into going if he didn't want to go.

When he came into the Cafeteria he could hear Carolyn pacing in the office. She was more than agitated -- anxious actually seemed to fit her mood. The Time Lord didn't really view himself as an empath, but humans in general were fairly easy to read as far as emotions went. "Carolyn?" He called as he walked to the main room.

"In here, Doctor."

_Well, yes. That much was quite established, thank you._ He snagged a container of water, a package of dried fruit, and some glasses before entering the office. Closing the door he said, "You don't look well. Sit down."

The blonde made a half-aborted attempt to resist before collapsing into one of the side chairs closest to her. The water handed to her shortly thereafter managed to pull a thankful smile out; "You're a godsend." He then gives her the food as well.

"Ah, I wouldn't push things quite that far, but you're welcome." He poured his own glass and leaned against the wall near the window, studying the scene outside as River, Simon, and Richard pass between some distant buildings with another load of salvaged items. River is dancing in the sun as though there's nothing wrong with the world. He smiles slightly at the sight.

Silence sits between them for a few heartbeats as he looks outside and she watches him while she chews on a bit of dehydrated pineapple. Swallowing Fry says, "We have more than one major problem. As you've guessed, we won't all fit on that skiff." The man's intense blue eyes swing back to hers, but unlike Johns' eyes these she could fall into willingly. Blinking and glancing away before she forgets herself, Carolyn sips her water, "But there's more."

"Do tell?"

Fry fidgets, "Johns."

Something about the tone of her voice sends alarm bells off in the Time Lord's head. His first thought is that the man might have attacked her, or forced her into something. "Did he hurt you, Carolyn?"

It takes her a second to understand the nature of his question. Once she does a slow blush spreads over her face. She's really very glad that someone would care if Johns had tried something in the skiff. But that hadn't even occurred to her as a danger at the time. Perhaps it should have. Looking at the Doctor's face, she guesses that she's been acting like it did, actually. "No. He didn't touch me at all. Honest." She puts her glass down. He nods to tell her that he believes her. "I'm just not sure we should be trusting him. Something is not _right_ about his entire situation."

"Have you just gotten that impression?"

She looks at her hands, "We've all done or seen things that we're not happy about, I imagine. Who am I to condemn anyone? I've been giving him the benefit of the doubt, trusting him to do the right thing because he's got a badge. But there's more to being a good guy than following the law, isn't there?"

The tall man moves away from the wall and settles his pale form into the other chair in the room. Surrounded by all the papers with the sunlight filtering in and backlighting him he almost looks like he could be a ghost of one of the settlers, not one of the living. "Not all laws are good or just. Sometimes those laws must be broken. It's the moral code that a person lives by that dictates good from bad, not the laws they operate in."

"He means to turn Riddick in, once he gets them both off planet, Doctor. And I think the rest of us are inferior to his concern. We could all die and it wouldn't bother Johns in the least."

The Doctor surprised her with his next statement, "Yes, I know." It's all she needs to spill the entire conversation, nearly word for word, that she and Johns had over the power cells.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Abu pulled the 'cat up to the crash ship, "Ali, Jack – gather the fiber optics, every strand. Hassan, Suleiman – come with me. We need to load the power cells into the back. Mr. Olgivie? Here's the locker card. Please open all the remaining lockers and load the items therein into the trailer."

"My Scotch?"

"Anything, sir." They had been given just a few short hours to load everything up that they could pry loose. Imam got everyone started then headed over to the computers to see if anything could be salvaged from the Cryo-system. He was happy to find that in addition to the eight lockers that had survived in the passenger bay that two crew lockers were undamaged. That meant that they did have ten lockers, total.

He however didn't have the skill to disconnect them. Instead he concentrated on locating the backup life-support generators and the emergency power supply for the lights. Those he could remove. Once the last of the batteries were removed from the battery bay, Abu set the two pilgrims to work striping wires. Now that there was no power running through them there was no danger in causing them to short out by carelessness. However, the main systems, both Cryo and computer, he left alone for Carolyn and perhaps the Doctor to deal with on the next trip.

Jack and Ali worked to gather up lights then moved off to help Paris. By the dual sunset, they were heading back with a train of trailers loaded full with everything they could find, even what might be useless junk. They had no way of knowing if the disconnected consoles had useful parts or not, so they loaded them up. Abu use salvaged cable to re-enforce the hitches to keep the load from coming apart on the way back.

The_ Hunter-Gratzner _looked nearly stripped bare.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Simon and Rich watched the Doctor as he took apart several toys and put them back together in an odd miss-match that was part solar powered etch-a-sketch and part half a dozen other whirling thing-a-bobs with a camera. They were taking an ordered break, because Fry had brought them out water and insisted that they rest for a while. "What's he doin'?" Riddick asks the Tam scion.

"Don't have any idea, actually," Simon admitted.

River looked at them both and gave them a look that said 'you are both so stupid' before speaking, "He wants to know the sky."

"And he needs some funny way of doin' it? What's wrong with his eyes?" Riddick asks her.

"Too much brilliance," the girl tells him. "Must see past it to descry the aegis."

The con is confused until the Doc poses another question, "So the Doctor is making a filter?"

"Yes."

Fry has caught the last bit of the conversation; "He's trying to see the planets that are going to cause the eclipse?" She walks back to them and takes up a spot in the shade. River nods.

Simon smiles, "That's brilliant. If we can observe the planets over the course of a few days then we can figure out exactly how much time we have."

The Doctor glances back at them, "Don't just stand there. Carolyn you have a timepiece?" Fry nods. "Then this is ready, we don't have time to waste, remember. River do you want to measure?"

"Rich is more precise," she pulls out a notebook and a stubby pencil.

The ex-ranger finds himself tugged over to the contraption, "What do you need me to do?"

Carolyn wants to know that as well, as she looks at the negative image forming on the screen. There is a horizon line and the camera seems exactly matched to it, and showing on the etch-a-sketch is the large, ringed planet. She looks at the Doctor. "Carolyn will time, River will make notations, and you will calculate the arc degree off horizon of one point here, so we can track movement. Normally this would take place over several days but we don't know if we have several days."

The trio nods.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Johns came to, noticing that it was slightly dimmer than it had been when he'd closed his eyes. He swallowed and blinked. The light filtering in was blue, not yellow. The single sun must be in the air, not the double one. _No Eclipse, not yet_, he thinks with relief. He reached over to his box of red shells gripping it to assure himself that they are still there. _Must've been out for a couple of hours, didn't mean to pass out._

He slowly gathered himself together and picked up his pack. He put the red box back into it and ambled out as the 'cat rattled back into the settlement with Imam driving. William squints. There are a number of filled carts attached to the back of the cat, piled high. Fry must've not listened to him.

Well then, he's going to just have to keep a tighter yoke on his bounty. Starting now. He headed over to the Hanger where the 'cat was parked. The front trailer had already been detached and moved inside. Johns slipped into the Hanger and noticed that there was a high level of activity there, with the lights being hung, power generators being examined, parts being moved, and power cells being placed into storage crates. He narrowed his eyes. "What is going on?"

The Doctor speaks up, "I've been informed of your concerns and the captain's as well. The solution is to place the cells we don't immediately need into a storage crate and seal it closed. I trust that is an acceptable compromise?"

"And who has access?"

"Oh, I thought we'd give keys to Abu and Paris, " the pale fellow sounds flippant. Johns clinches his jaw. The Doctor has chosen the neutral individuals, the ones that haven't butted heads overly much with anyone else.

"Right. Lovely."

"Good. All settled then."

William feels his blood pressure rising into that 'need to shoot someone' level and then spots Riddick watching him with a look that says, '_do it and die_'. It deflates his temper right quick. He notes that the Hanger has been turned into a decent camp, with an inner set of walls being erected and defenses put into place in case the creatures manage to break the outer walls. The lights are being put into places where they can act as both illumination and deterrents. The supplies and cooking surface has already been installed into a central location as well. He turns and finds the holy man, "What needs to be done?"

"Unloading trailers. You can help Suleiman," he says before turning to the younger boys who are carrying in loads that look like they came from the bushwhacker's storage area. "Ali, let's put the spare bedding inside the secure area."

After dropping his gear off on a cot, he walks outside and helps the older pilgrims muscle a console from the crash ship onto the hand truck before taking a stroll around the Hanger proper. He's surprised to find Richard walking next to him, "Carolyn said that you would point out weak spots. I'm supposed to move crates to secure the walls. I've already gotten the seams and stacked over the windows. If we have time I'm considering stripping off the siding from some of the other buildings to re-enforce the roof." Johns looked over at the con with narrowed eyes, "You are planning on leaving folks behind, aren't you, Billy?"

"Not my choice, Rich. You know that."

"Sure it is. You have the gauge."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

River pauses in her stacking of warmer clothing into a dresser. The violent black and red shards dancing in the air spiked and she looked around to see that the redheaded marshal just re-entered the Hanger. He has managed to taint all his interactions with everyone. There's no privacy here, no way to avoid brushing against his mental state. She doesn't like what she sees. There's a hole of darkness that it filled with demons and rage. The man is just teetering on the brink of falling in. Problem is, he's got weapons and could take them all with him when he goes.

Paris strides past her line of sight with his misters and fans. He defuses the shards with a layer of peach and amber mist. No anger really, but lots of near panic in that one, if he pauses long enough to actually think about the situation. Now that they have water he sees no reason to not make the Hanger as comfortable as possible. Because the devices work on battery power however, Imam has insisted that they be converted over to the solar sources to save the batteries for the lights. The pilgrims have promised to do this once the lines are in place and thus the art dealer is taking them off the umbrellas and putting them around selected locations, like the eating, lounging, and sleeping areas. The outlined plan is to move one or several of the larger solar units over and run lines to hook up everything. They can save battery power until they need it, should it happen that the sun is blocked before they skiff is ready.

Hassan finishes unloading the last of the salvaged items from the last trailer, setting everything into piles for others to sort. "Let's get the solar units now, aye, Suleiman?" he calls. Abu replies that it is a good idea and the three head out with the hydraulic lift. '_Odd_,' River thinks, '_They don't speak English_._ I don't speak Arabic, I don't think. Or do I? Don't remember learning it._'

But before she can puzzle it out further, Carolyn settles down near her and runs a hand over her back. "Here are more sweaters from the crash site. Are you ok, hon?"

Interesting question, that. Is she? No. She'll never be 'Okay' again, really. Not like she was before anyhow. She takes the stack, "Red is acrimonious." The statement is followed by a tired sigh. "Disseminates off on all."

Carolyn makes a face and looks around. Her eyes settle on Johns who is helping remove some of the heavier pieces of the crash ship from the hand truck. "Do you mean Johns?" She gets a blank look. "Is 'Red' the marshal?" River glances past the docking pilot and lets her eyes settle on the man in question. She makes a slow nod. Fry squeezes River's hand. "He's got a pissed-off attitude, I agree." The blonde regains her feet. "Try not to let him get to you."

Ali and Jack carry in several crates of toys and other diversions. Some of them are for the Doctor to take apart for whatever use he might have, others are for play. They boys intend to haggle over the better items, since they lost the etch-a-sketch earlier. "What do you need that crap for?" Johns questions.

"Johns! Leave the boys alone. It's better for them to have something to distract themselves then for them to be underfoot all the time." Carolyn jumps in. Behind her Jack make a rude gesture at the redhead.

"You tell that kid that I'm gonna bust his ass if he keeps up, Fry," Johns starts to walk out. "Why does it look like you're setting to go back to the crash site already?"

"Because we are, actually. There's the Cryo system and the computer still to salvage. You can come with the Doctor and I, or you can stay. Simon, River, Abu and the boys are staying. Riddick is coming with us to help with the lifting."

River was quite relieved that he decided to go.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The 'cat pulled up neatly to the _Hunter-Gratzner_. Riddick moved around to the back and pulled out the hand truck from one trailer. "I'll disconnect the lockers," said the Doctor, "then come up and start on the Cryo-systems."

"That's fine. I can get the computer. Would it be better to take it apart or to move it in one piece."

Johns made a face, "Wouldn't it be less likely to get filled with dust if you move the entire thing in one go?"

"It doesn't matter. Carolyn, don't attempt to move it in larger chunks than you can carry," the sparsely haired gent suggests.

The blonde nods, "Want to help me or Rich, Johns?"

Johns moves off to help Fry. They set to work, pulling apart systems and loading trailers. Many of the cryo-tanks that the Doctor finds look full. He also locates enough tubing to connect each of the lockers back to the drug feeders. Riddick sets up four lockers to a trailer and then two in a third. Fry and Johns find that the computer systems fit into the space left over.

As they finish up, the marshal and his bounty catch each other's eyes. The look exchanged in a significant one, but Johns finds he can't maintain it as a flu-like shiver caused him to nearly retch as he fights doubling over. Richard shows no sympathy, "Bad sign. Shakin' like that in this heat."

Johns snarls at him. Fry and the Doctor emerge from the hulk that is left of the crash ship, where not even a lighted switch remains, "Are you all right, marshal? You look a little pallid," William glances over at both the speaker and the docking pilot. They look rather concerned.

"I'm fine. Let's get this load back to the settlement."

By the time they return the pilgrims have hooked up the solar panels to the roof and run lines for the various items inside. They are gathered at the eating area enjoying lunch. Abu calls for the newcomers to join them but Johns mumbles something about needing to take a nap. When Simon starts to come over to check him he practically darts away, leaving the doctor totally mystified.

Riddick smirks, "Not a medical problem, Doc."

Simon gives the bronze man a questioning look but before he can say anything Fry speaks up, "He told me that he'd picked up the flu at Conga." She sets down filled plates for herself, Riddick and the Doctor next to Paris at one of the tables

The Doctor settles into a seat and raises an eyebrow, "Did he now?"

"Funny, he said it was Swamp Fever, to me," Paris countered between bites.

The con looks at all of them as he sits down, "Not my right to say, but if I were you I'd be wondering about the truth of the matter."

"Red is flying." They all stare at the ebony-haired girl who is gazing off into space.


	20. Part Twenty Trepidation

**A/N:**_ Why 'Rich' for Riddick you wonder? Various people have different reasons. Johns calls him Richie once, then reverts to 'Rich' to mock the others. Riddick calls Johns 'Billy', too but does not use the more adult 'Bill' (short for William). This is indicative of their history. The Doctor calls Riddick "Richard" as a way to humanize him to the others (He's got a first name, why help Johns in keeping the man down?). It is one way to show which survivors are not as scared of him. River has two reasons for using 'Rich'. She isn't frightened of him, and she sees him as the element of Earth. He is to her -- rich, golden, metallic, and a grounding point for the storm. Fry uses Rich because she's too lazy to call him Richard. I've tried to limit the use of 'Rich' to those who do feel comfortable with him, and Johns, who is an arse.  
Imam's full name is Abu al'Walid. Imam is a religious title like "Father" and is not his name (The info comes from the Pitch Black Website).  
Time for another 'What if' question. What if those fleeing from Sol-3 did so because of an invasion that they couldn't fight? Not every human, mind you, just those that settled in Blue Sun, Kova, Furya, Helion… What would happen to these humans in the depths of space if a Time Lord, in his various incarnations, had an inadvertent hand in shaping the development of the resultant societies either directly or indirectly?  
Thanks for the questions and reviews, My Reflection and ck16._

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty

Trepidation

They can see, through the open Hanger doors, the position of the blue sun as it traces its path down toward twilight. The Vectran was brought back from the crash ship, a bolt of it that hopefully is enough to patch the wings of the skiff with. The holy man, robes flapping in the hot breeze filtering in through the open door, scales the small craft and begins by stripping off the old torn fabric. As he works, he and his pilgrims sing in Arabic about doing God's work and reaping the rewards of their service. First it's a voice above then it's a chorus below. Hassan and Suleiman hold the heavy bolt of cloth as Richard sets up a worktable.

Inside, Fry and the Doctor are replacing the computer's parts with more advanced ones off the _Hunter-Gratzner_. The job is not an easy one and they struggle with it, trying to get the parts to connect and communicate.

Once the worktable is set up, Riddick signals to the pilgrims and they drop the weight off with him. He flips open the bolt until he's got enough width to span the wing struts. He's got a feeling in his gut that he needs to be very precise about the sizes of the trim. Because of that Richard eyes the struts carefully and makes accurate cuts.

Suleiman is called away by Paris to assist with something inside the hanger, leaving Hassan to carry the pieces up to the waiting Imam. Rich knows that in a couple of hours he'll have to return to the filter the Doctor has set up to view the planets with and take an hour's worth of measurements. In spite the assurance that he's gotten that they have at least a week's worth of double sunrises left, the con feels like they are nearly out of time already.

His blade, returned to him by the Doctor after some secret threshold was passed, cuts cleanly through the heavy black fabric. He maintains a straight line as he pulls it across the dark expanse nice and steady. As the trim comes off, the young pilgrim chatters a thanks (that, he realizes, oddly enough, he can understand even though he's sure the kid only speaks Arabic) and scampers up the side of the craft. The ex-ranger ponders the mystery of that while Hassan nimbly crosses the struts to hand the first section of wing fabric off to Abu.

The holy man switches from his blade to a heavy needle and thread and proceeds to stitch the fabric into place. Hassan cannot leave until he calls for Ali and Jack to come up and stretch the cloth tight, "Ali, Jack! Come. We must all help!" Again the words are in Arabic but Richard's mind quickly assigns English to the cry. '_Fuckin' weird_,' he thinks. Jack and Ali materialize out of one of the other buildings and scramble up the skiff. Once the two young boys are up with Imam, Hassan turns his attention to carrying the material up as it is needed.

River watches the process, stepping in to hold the end of the bolt as Rich finds himself at the end of it. "I hope this is enough," he mumbles. Like everything else it seems that there is barely what they need. This is cutting it close. He eyes the two triangular areas of the wing tips and looks at the last bit of trim.

"It will make her fly," River assures him.

"Father, I'm going to slice this last piece diagonal for the tips, otherwise you won't have enough," Riddick calls.

"It would seem that we are fortunate that you can cut straight, Mr. Riddick, " the holy man calls back. Yes, it does appear so, but the ex-ranger knows that his fortune never stays good for long. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop. It'll be any time now.

Once the part of the job he can do is done, the con switches his attention to giving himself a shave while he keeps a watch on the position of the blue star and wonders how long it's going to be before they take another trip to the crash site.

It takes an hour for Fry and the Time Lord to emerge from the skiff.

River tugs the bronze man to his feet and over to the filter for another set of readings. Imam and the boys also follow because it is unusual for anyone to tug the large muscular man anywhere. Paris walks out, "What is going on?"

"I do not know, Mr. Olgivie. Perhaps you should join us in finding out?" Abu answers. The art dealer makes a face and proceeds to tag along.

Everyone but the marshal gathers around the strange, pieced-together device, most back far enough away to not interfere with whatever is going to happen. Glancing at the setting blue sun reveals nothing unusual to the naked eye, but the filter can see the shadowy edge of the gas giant's rings hovering near the point of sunrise, just like it could the sunset before. The Doctor stares at the image with a frown.

"One hundred and fifty-three point eight-two degrees," Riddick says as the blue sun is not quite down yet. "Off-set by ought point one-nine-seven degrees from due sunrise."

Johns walks up from another direction, curious because everyone else is there. He hears Riddick babble off some numbers and then the strange girl reply.

"That is point ought-ought-seven closer than the last readings," River says without looking at the data.

"Twenty-eight sunrises, give or take. Fourteen days." The Doctor announces.

'_So that's what this contraption is_,' thinks the redhead, '_Ingenious, really_.' But the news isn't all that welcome to him. They know exactly how much time they have. The others are blinking. The information makes the impending nightfall that much more real.

Fry rakes a hand through her hair, "You sure?"

"Or less, if it speeds up we could be looking at it happening in thirteen and a half days."

She takes a deep hit off her breather and gives the alien a '_curse you_' look that is clearly not personal. "Better get back to work on the computer then, I need to run the sys-check on the nav program and see if it is malfunctioning or not."

"Do the hull integrity test first. If that is passed then well deal with the next issue."

Fry nods and walks back to the Hanger.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Johns finds himself, once again, at the crash site, or a little past it. It's twilight. Imam suggested nearly straight away that they take a trip out here while it was cooler. The marshal had agreed, feeling the sudden need to be _doing_ something. The fact that the Doctor had given Paris some tools and asked them to locate, or at least look for, additional cargo bays was just another oddity in an already surreal situation.

So out he went, with Hassan, Suleiman, the Imam, and Paris. The pilgrims are finishing up the salvage of the current cargo bay, removing the lights and any small storage containers that might be useful back at the Hanger. He's up top the hull with his scope trying to spot the other large pieces of the crash ship. Paris has set up some survey tools and is actually using them. Looks like the art dealer was given some professional training in a previous life. If they can find the next cargo bay then they are to pull lights from it and haul anything else they think is useful.

Below, Imam and his older pilgrims manage to get one of the storage crates out the door because they have rigged some axles and wheels to it. Once the noise of them congratulating themselves dies down, Johns turns his attention back to his scouting. It's past the horizon, at the very least, that next cargo bay. But off in the distance, down the crash scar, it looks like a sandstorm brewing. "Are we about done?" he calls down.

"See anything?" Olgivie asks by way of a response.

"No cargo bay. But there's a sandstorm off in the distance, and I don't fancy being caught out in it."

"Well, that will disappoint, I'm sure. But better to be safe than sorry. Let's head back to the settlement and I'll see if there's a surviving record of the flight data on the computer core. I might be able to triangulate the location of the other cargo bays from that easier anyhow."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Carolyn settles into the charcoal colored pilot's chair. The computer and various monitors have been fixed but there's still a great deal of open panels and wires about. Following the Doctor's suggestion, she flips the diagnostic program over to check the skiff's hull for holes. Behind her the hatch closes with a hydraulic hiss and the existing life support system kicks in. That's a good sign. It looks like the Frankensteined computer is working without errors, too. Of course, the Doctor had tinkered a bit with it and promised that it would be problem free.

She scans the screen off to her left where it reads, "_HULL INTEGRITY TEST_". The outline of the ship slowly turns from red to yellow to green as the sensors verify that there are no breaches. Fry turns and checks the rising pressure gauges. So far so good.

"Noticed that you've not argued for full power hookup…"

Carolyn jumps in her skin and whirls the seat back to look at the speaker. The goggled man is scanning the inside of the skiff with a very disgruntled air. "Don't want to overload the circuits," she replies as her body calms down. "There's still a lot to replace and the skiff is wired for one use."

"How many Cryo-lockers were you thinking would fit?"

"Ten."

The ex-ranger shakes his head, "As coffins, maybe. You gotta have space for the drug canisters, the extra power cells, and the monitoring system. Might fit eight, if you are lucky."

Fry reaches back to tuck a set of dangling wires out of the way. "Kinda afraid of that myself, actually. Looking at the lockers, I'm thinking seven might be a squeeze."

"And you're putting off a check on the main drive? Shouldn't that have been a necessary inspection near first thing?" Riddick leans against the sidewall, near the back of the skiff and eyes her over, "Unless -- Billy told you the particulars of my last escape."

"We have a few days yet, and the cryo should be hooked up before we try to channel power into the engines." The blonde turned away and looked at the readings, "But Johns did say somethin' about that. A quick-and-ugly somethin', actually."

Riddick is surprised by the fact that the docking pilot takes her eyes off him. He was sure that her lack of fear before was because he was chained up. But maybe not. He walks heavy as he approaches from behind her to deliberately let her know he's getting closer. She keeps working, acting like he's anyone else that might be trapped in here with her. It scatters his mind and shifts his perception. He's not sure how figure her out, "An' now you're worried about a repeat of history?"

"Johns is."

She feels the weight of his body tip her chair as he leans on it, "I asked what _you_ thought."

She swallows, "Why don't you sit down, huh? So we can have this conversation while I'm working instead of me wonderin' if the badge is right about you the entire time."

Fry can feel him quirk an eyebrow at her back, as if that reply was not the one he was expecting. He glances over her shoulder at the readings and watches the cabin pressure gauge as the numbers climb. "I remember the look on your face, Carolyn. That sense of innocence and acceptance, of _wonder_, when you looked into my eyes. I ain't never had a woman look at me like that before."

She makes a face and glances back over her shoulder to find that she's nose to nose with him. There's a tension in the air that feels like an uncertain, wounded animal desperately looking for warmth and shelter. "Rich," She takes his hand and tugs him into the co-pilot's chair. "Has your entire life lacked any sense of majesty or amazement? Any kindness?" His befuddled expression speaks volumes. "What I saw in your eyes was beautiful. Not to say that I don't realize that you are what you are, any less than a wolf is a wolf or a tiger is a tiger or a shark is a shark. But there's a place in nature for such things and I know that. It's not _you_ that scares me."

Richard finds himself blinking rapidly, and extremely grateful for the dark goggles. He can feel her warm hand holding his, like a lifeline. He struggles to keep his face blank, but her slight smile makes him turn away. She is one in a million, an angel, for all her flaws. After a long pause he asks, "Think Johns is an do-right man? You think I can trust him to cut me loose?"

Her hand twitches. "No. No, I don't. But it's not his say, is it, Richard? It's mine. I made that deal, and I intend to keep it, one way or another."

"You do?" He surprised, in spite of himself. Fry nods. His hand squeezes hers then lets go, but her small palm doesn't move from his. "Well -- guess if it was trickeration he'd just 'x' me out, huh? Then again...I am worth _twice_ as much alive." He glances back at her and can see the pieces falling into place in Carolyn's head. He confirms for her the truth of his relationship with the marshal, "Didn't you know? Johns ain't a cop. Oh, he's got that nickel-slick badge an' all, but nah -- he's just a merc and I'm just a payday. That's why he won't kill me, see. The creed is greed."

"He didn't say, other than Conga authorities were ordering him out of the system. I didn't actually speak with him, Merritt did. But he did let us all assume he was with Conga's law system." She glances over at the data streaming past. The hull check still has about half way to go, "So is he Company guild?" Riddick nods to confirm. Johns is worse kind of merc, she knows then, "He scares me, Rich. I admit that. I've told the Doctor as much. He pulled his gun on me, even. But we can't let him know that we see past his front, because soon as he realizes people are gonna start dying."

"True enough. He's got more secrets than I do, Carolyn. And in fourteen days, when the lights go out, the dyin' _will_ start. Johns is gonna figure out that there's only room for seven on this little boat. And so will Paris. I don't truly know what's gonna happen when it all goes pitch black, but I do know this little psycho family of ours is gonna rip itself apart." He takes a breath, "So you better find out the truth about Johns. Come nightfall, you better know exactly who's standing behind you."

"And the Doctor? Don't you forget that he's got a killer's eyes too, Richard. You, Johns, Paris, you got nothing on that man for mystery. Yet you trust him. And oddly enough so do I. If anyone can see us through this, he can." She glanced at Riddick's face and noted the muscle working in his jaw. "What? You didn't think anyone else could see the shadows in his eyes or the rage and power that he barely keeps in check? The Doctor makes Johns look like a child throwing a fit in comparison."

Riddick takes his hand away from hers and lifts his goggles to rub his eyes. "Shit, Fry. How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Fuckin' read my mind? Yeah, the Doctor is dangerous. Powerful. Genius. But he's one thing that Johns ain't. Good -- he's totally pure. So squeaky clean in his righteousness that he'd drown all of us in it, except for maybe Imam."

Carolyn laughs, "How the hell can someone be a killer and still qualify for sainthood?"

The ex-ranger snorts, "Got me there. But it's true. Watch how the Father greets him, sometime." Off to the side a monitor chirps the news "_HULL INTEGRITY --100-PERCENT. NO BREACH DETECTED. EXHALING GASSES_." The hatch unseals automatically with a sigh. Fry looks at Riddick as he stands up and heads for the exit. "Carolyn? Ask Billy about those shakes of his, huh? Ask why your crew-pal had to scream like that before he died."

She blinks and gives him a nod. The goggles come back down and he nods too before walking out into the post-dusk, pre-dawn, twilight. The pain of her last moments with Owens lances her heart.

If the redhead was around right then she'd let him have it, but as it is he's off at the crash site stripping the cargo bay. Carolyn squeezes her eyes closed and lays her head on the console. Despair threatens her soul for a moment. "Come, eat with us," says a soft voice. She looks up to see River, "You need to sleep. Let the storm work on the life support." The docking pilot smiles. She gets to her feet and follows the dark-headed girl out.


	21. Part TwentyOne Twilight

**A/N: **_Is Jack a girl? Or a boy? And when will we know? Hehe… I'm not saying. __:-0  
Carolyn Fry is a fairly central character, and I'm glad that someone's rooting for her. Face it, there are some that are meant to die… and some that are tragic. And maybe even a few that should live.  
This story has so many 'what if' questions that it is amazing that so much of the movie plot has survived, really. The obvious ones are What if Simon and River ended up on another ship from Serenity, and What if the Doctor's TARDIS plopped him into the same ship. But there are more. Mutant Plot Bunny that it is, I'm sure you can all detect those 'What if' things from a mile away.  
My Reflection, ck16, and Robin Moto have my thanks for the lovely feedback._

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-one

Twilight

It's well past noon again when the sandcat rolls to a stop with the third load from the crash site. Simon and River appear and begin unloading. Riddick is up on the roof of the hanger adding a cross-application of siding taken from other buildings. Johns would be concerned about it except for the poles indicating the weight is being born by the stacks of crates that have been welded together. All in all, the entire Hanger is starting to look like a fortress. Large axles have been placed onto re-enforced inner doors, designed to close quickly should they need to move the skiff out after sundown.

As the wind begins to pick up Imam makes the decision to move the 'cat and trailers inside the hanger and park it toward the back. They will have to push it out to get it started if it sits for very long, but at least it won't become unusable like it might if left out in the mounting conditions.

The skiff is looking like it's stripped out, the seats and inner panels scattered out around it. The wings are repaired though, so that's something, at least. Currently there's a leather jacket hanging on the open door, indicative of who is working inside. Johns takes a peek in and sees denim clad legs, "Where's Fry?"

"Resting. There's not enough space for two of us to run the re-wire for life support, marshal," says the Doctor. Okay, fair enough. Carolyn hasn't slept much more than a few hours since the crash anyhow.

"Spotted a sandstorm, looks to be headed this way."

The other man doesn't reply right off the bat, "If so, then Richard shouldn't be on the roof."

"I'll call 'im down. Nice to see that you and Fry are taking shifts on this," he taps the skiff as he walks away. But once he's outside he finds that Riddick somehow beguiles him into climbing up onto the roof and helping out, "How the hell did I end up helping you?"

"Ah, come on, Billy, it's not that bad. Besides it looks like that sandstorm might be blowing over," the bronze skinned man says looking off the direction where a yellowish haze is painting the sky. "And there's only a few more panels to go. Two of us and we'll be done that much faster."

Johns sways, "I can't stay up here long. But I'll secure what I can help with. When I go down, you go down. That Doctor bloke doesn't want you risking being outside with the storm heading this way." To the merc's amazement the con nodded and put his body to work without another comment. The dust in the air picked up as they worked; gathering to the point that Johns is squinting and breathing heavy on his breather. Riddick signals '_One more_' and quickly moves it into place. Johns takes one side and begins fastening it down a quickly as possible. He's feeling light-headed and his eyes are filled with grit. He is glad for the help down and the extra arms that steer him inside even if those arms belong to someone who is cold to the touch.

The doors to the hanger close behind them as the three men move inside. The redhead feels the first of the violent shivers quake through his frame. He coughs and pulls free. "Water?" says a male voice. He thinks it is Paris. Johns nods and accepts the glass. He manages to get about half of it down, "Here let's lay him down. Johns? I really think that Dr. Tam should look you over."

The merc shakes his head as his eyes finally clear, "Nah. I'm ok. Just too much grit, too much sun. I'll take a lie-down and maybe start drinking more water. Don't wake the kid up if he's sleeping." That manages to get them off his back. He wanders off to the private toilets, thankful that they existed. He knows Sir-Shiv-a-Lot has been dropping hints about the nature of his 'illness' and that it's only a matter of time before someone catches on.

He just needs to delay it for a little longer, is all.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The Hanger is bathed in spots of cool blue glow from the fiber optics, offset by tawny tinged shadows. But at least there's enough solar energy getting though to keep the lights and the misters going. Several fans cycle off and on as the system tries to cope with the blowing sand outside.

Carolyn is back inside the skiff, running the nav program through its paces as she tries to detect whatever error it was that sent the _Hunter-Gratzner_ off course, leaving the Doctor to work on the cryo-system in pieces. It is intense and mind-numbing work, requiring the application of repeated simulations that change one small variable at a time. While this is going on the bulk of the rewire grinds to a halt.

The life support system has been reworked already and the space cleared for the upgrade that the cryo-system represents. Until they are sure that the nav program is going to steer the skiff the correct course they won't finish installing the new system anyway. Not that this keeps the Doctor from preparing the required parts.

"Come here, Simon. There's something I want to show you," the Doctor says as the survivors move off to various diversions from the dining table. It's true really, there is something he wants to show the Tam boy, but it's not something fully visible. Rather it's something to be experienced. They are stuck inside because of the sandstorm raging outside. It's a perfect time to start working on the lad.

The pair moved over to the scattered parts of the cryo-system. "Actually I suspect you want me here to replace the used needles with sterile ones," the dark-haired young man tossed back at the Time Lord.

The Doctor had the grace to look sheepish, "That too, but aside – What do you understand of the chemical composition of the cryo-drugs?"

Simon settled down to help with the work, "I don't, really. Aside from what I've read for basic use. It's not my area of expertise. I'm a trauma surgeon by trade."

The Doctor looks at the dark haired young man and is reminded again of Susan. He struggles to contain the swell of emotion; "It's a delicate thing, life. These drugs are a soup of chemicals designed to just hold a body on the edge of the brink between life and death. They are tailored for the average human metabolism. Those that have too high a degree of variance have unusual behavior either during or when emerging from the artificial suppression of their minds."

"Really? The medical texts I studied didn't mention that. What type of retrogressions are there?"

The brown-haired man rubbed a pale hand across the back of his equally pale neck, "Oh, it figures that the rare side effects wouldn't be mentioned in standard medical texts, Simon. Authorities want it to seem as though this process is extremely safe." He sits back on his heels for a moment, composing his thoughts. "Retrogressions, eh? Yes, I suppose they could be called that. The behavior depends on how the starting brain chemistry varies from the norm. Some individuals with a strong primitive mind either wake up very easily or don't actually sleep at all. Those individuals who maintain awareness for the extended period of drug induced paralysis, which may or may not occur, often display extreme mental trauma or phobias of enclosed spaces after. Then there's the other end of the spectrum. Some individuals have their lower functions, like respiration or pulse, totally suspended to the point that they forget how those functions work. While the cryo-system can maintain these individuals while they are under, waking them is risky."

"River and I had identical reactions when we woke up of the latter sort. Why?"

"Because your higher brain functions and your lower brain functions don't communicate the same way that most lesser evolved humans do." That earns the pale fellow a strange and puzzled stare. "Unlike someone whose lower brain functions are dominant, you and River while suspended in cryo are closer to real death than other humans. Call it a curse of your genius, if you want," The Doctor continued without meeting those blue eyes that were fixed on him. "There are other species with similar problems who have evolved natural means to work around it. But it takes more than a generation for such things to happen."

"And how exactly did you save my life?"

The blue eyes finally connected with Simon's. And he hears, '_Like this_,' but the Doctor's face remains perfectly immobile. The Tam scion hears the Doctor's voice in his head even though the other man's lips are not moving. '_Don't panic. There's nothing to be scared of, Simon. It is your gift and your right. You just need to be open to it._' The lad takes in a deep breath and nods. River's been hinting that this was coming.

There's a wave of gratefulness that passes between Simon and the Doctor, '_Thank you_.'

"Oi, don't thank me yet. Wait until you are truly safe, Simon Tam."

"So is it going to be all right for us to go back under? I'm a bit concerned about the not breathing part."

The Time Lord pauses, "What would you do if I told you that you would have the same problem?"

Simon shivers, "River and I would stay here. Maybe help would arrive before we were eaten. That's what we will have to do. There's no way that a commercial flight would ever let either of us go into cryo again now that I have to disclose our allergic reaction."

"There might be another way. If the sandstorm dies down in time I'll take the 'cat out and collect my belongings."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

That ended up being the main question: would the Sandstorm die down before the eclipse hit?

Paris operated on the assumption that it had to. He was pouring over maps and charts taken off the crash record in an attempt to locate the other cargo bays. Likely though it was a waste of time. Really he had no or little skill to bring to bear otherwise.

Riddick concentrated on making defenses out of extra cot frames, shelving supports, or any other spare bit of metal he could lay his hands on. He was good at the task and was building up quite a range of weapons and trap pieces.

The pilgrims, once the last load from the crash site was dealt with, alternated between playing games and their prayer, unless one of the adults had something for them to do. Between the merc and the art dealer admonishing them to stay out of the way or to be quiet the boys felt as though they were hopelessly underfoot with little to contribute.

Johns either worked with Riddick on making the defensive spikes or hovered around the skiff when he wasn't spending an excessive amount of time in the restroom or asleep. He'd taken to playing with a red shotgun shell as of late and was often spotted sliding one through his fingers while watching others work.

Simon helped with the cryo systems, stopping to pray when the pilgrims did. He took his vow seriously. His work with the Doctor slowly came to rely more on mental cues that verbal ones, and it was only after River corrected him on one of the connections that he became aware that she was part of the ongoing conversation taking place. He could feel the buzz of her mind like a layer of static over the top of every notion he and the Doctor shared. And every now and then he understood the rapid-fire of her hyper-aware introspection as it flitted above his own.

River studied various manuals scattered about and occasionally brought up some brilliant way of making the suggested repairs better. It was hard to believe that she wasn't a trained expert at anything she turned her attention to.

Carolyn and the Doctor continued to work diligently on the skiff, neither slowing much aside from Simon's occasional order to eat or sleep.

The days passed with them caught inside because of the biting, dense, blowing sand raging outside. It led them to wonder: had this been what caused the settlers to miss their takeoff? Or had something else more sinister happened?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

River watched the swirls of color around her, the bubbling deep blue-black mist, the pure airy sky blue-whites, the sharp red and black shards, and the bronze and gold spikes being the strongest. Then there was the ruddy orange slither and the calm clear bright aqua that were offset by troubled jiggling dark purple-gray. Fainter still were various brown and greens that flowed or spiked depending on the moods of the boys they belonged to.

The art dealer was often overflowing with his undulating colors that varied from rusty brown to near peach. The intense colors were becoming more dominant as time passed. It was clear that he felt trapped as the wind howled and the granular silica pelted with constant faint pings against the metal siding for hour after hour. Thankfully the crates stacked against the outer walls everyplace except near the main doors lessened the noise. His colors were not too troubling, and she could distract him back into the more peachy tones by getting him to talk about what he was working on as long as she acted interested and tried to seem like she didn't already understand everything he was doing.

The pilgrims and Jack created a faint multi-hued web of greens and browns, all mostly unconcerned in their innocence of the situation. It was clear that Jack, who alone was more a darker, earthy brown than the rest, was lightened considerably by his association with the other boys. Imam's own soothing pale green-blue often tipped his charges more green than brown and pulled Jack nearly into the olive range when they prayed.

It was the docking pilot's deep smoky-purple to plum eddies and swirls that often bothered River. The blonde was running herself haggard, not eating, not sleeping, but totally driven like she was chased by phantoms. There was no way to lighten those troubled dark sooty violet currents. She might get her to laugh or smile, but at most the colors the woman put off approached the blue range never totally stepping up out of the murky shadows that shrouded her. River was concerned that Fry was going to reach the end of her rope and just give up.

The stronger colors, each with their own shapes, were set and sure. Of them, only the marshal's red, maroon, and black sharp points truly made her shy away. She couldn't avoid him, but she could retreat behind the shield made of water and air that the Doctor and Simon were making for her. Lately those invasions of maroon and ebony had become both more intense and more frequent. But when she couldn't see them flowing away from his location, she saw rainbows.

Now she was sitting on the floor, bathed in sparks of warm metallic colors, bronze, brass, golden brown, arcing over her as she watched the muscular man with his quicksilver eyes turn a spare bit of support pole into a polearm. He was surrounded by pointed, flat-headed spears. He glanced over at her and noticed her intense curiosity. "Come on over here, River."

She unfolded herself from the position she'd taken on the floor and moved over to Richard, "Will you let me help?"

The sparkles became brighter, tinkling with a wash of silver, as if he were amused by the question. He nodded and handed her a heavy three-sided file. "I might even show you how to make some blades of your own. Why don't you sharpen these to start?"

She had been observing him long enough to know how to do as he asked and set to honing one of the flattened heads into razor sharpness with the file. The mix of rolling deep navy and interwoven misty cool white flowed around them like a blanket.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Johns cloistered himself in the Hanger office. He's propped up against the desk, sitting on a crate. There's only one light here; the faint tawny flickers that permeate through the howling wind outside. He doesn't dare turn on a light or waste any power. Not like he need to see to do this anyhow. Even the dark of space can't act as a deterrent for this mistress.

He takes a deep breath, and selects a new red shotgun shell from his red box. Reverently the redhead pulls the shell apart and slides one of six little clear ampules hidden where led shot and gunpowder should have been. The thin capsule-like tube slides into a thin needled folding syringe. This is better than sex, better than the thrill of the hunt, better than the power of death. He carefully places the needle into the duct of his left eye and lets the morphine slide home.

There's time, between the blinks, before the high kicks in to put the syringe back into the holder it came out of. But he's too far gone to hear the door open past the rush of flight a few moments later, "Who are you? Really?" Not the best of timing. He's stripped to his undershirt, with his belts and guns off. Actually too far away for him to reach as they sit innocently in a chair near the door. He put them there on purpose. Johns lets his eyes drift from the leather sheen in the chair to the woman backlit by a cool blue glow. _Fry. In the doorway. Knows_. His mind is none too helpful at the moment. "You're not a _real_ cop, are you? Just some guild merc who goes around flaunting the law like --"

Now that's going too far. He's earned his badge. That he's freelance and not tied down to any one authority is another matter, "I never said I was."

"Never said you were a hype, either," the docking pilot spits out. There's a venom in her voice that goes far beyond anything he done or not done. Johns blinks and lets himself slump slightly. Carolyn shakes her head and moves into the room, heading right over to his bag that is sitting on a side desk. The red box is still open. She narrows her eyes at it and plucks a shell at random to investigate. It's full. She slams it back in to the box and picks another. It's full too. Anger begins to fill the little room, overflowing from her tense and overstressed form.

"You have a little caffeine in the morning, I have a little morphine. So what?"

She grits her teeth, pauses a moment to hold back what she really wants to say and instead mumbles out, "And here you got two mornings every day. Wow, were you _born_ lucky?"

He rouses himself slightly and squints at her though the haze of the yellowish dusky light, "Hey, not a problem unless you're gonna make -- "

"No! Johns." She spins around to face him; "_You_ made it a problem when you let Owens die like that. You've got enough opiate here to knock out a fucking mule-team!"

He waves aside the argument, "Owens was already dead. His brain just hadn't caught on to that fact."

She sputters in her rage, "Anything _else_ we should know about you, Johns? Christ, here I am lettin' you role the dice on our lives when --" Carolyn's manic energy moves her within his range of grasp. She's very tempted to claw his glassy blue eyes right out of his head.

Johns catches her by the wrists and then forces her hands around his body. She is struggling but against his strength there's little she can do. The embrace only becomes still once he presses her dainty fingers against the horrific raised line of a jagged scar that sits next to his spine. Her touch becomes careful as she processes what her hands are telling her about the scar. Johns' voice seems to echo Richards' in her head, "My first run-in with Riddick. Went for the sweet-spot," '_the sweet spot -- just to the left of the spine, fourth lumbar down. The abdominal aorta. What a gusher_,' "and missed. They had to leave a piece of the shiv in there. I can feel it, sometimes, pressing against the cord." He lets go of her, "So maybe the care and feeding of my nerve-endings is my business."

Her fire is brought down a notch but not doused, "You coulda helped. And you didn't."

"Yeah, well. Look to thine own ass first. Right, _captain_?"

She flinches away from the words like she's been slapped. Her face barely maintains her mask as she walks out. It was a mistake trusting Johns from the start and now Fry knows she is going to pay for it, one way or another. The door shuts and locks with a click behind her. Carolyn's eyes mist over and she nearly sinks to the floor. Only the cool steady hands seeped in leather, honey, and spice prevent her from doing so. She lets him guide her to her cot and settle her under the blankets. By then she's too numb again to cry.


	22. Part TwentyTwo Transmutation

**A/N: **_Whoot! Reviews! __**:-D**__ Glad to see you're still reading and still thinking, My Reflection, ck16, and Robin Moto. Thank you very much.  
The sandstorm started out as just a 'what would it look like if…' thing (but I can't tell you the details, plot you know) that took on a life of its own. But yes, having the entire solar system locked into a line for 3-14 years is bound to have some impact on the planet in the middle.  
River's sight… the hues are indeed indicative of aura, personality, and dominant mood. I've tried to assign colors and shapes that, to me, fit my understanding of the characters. Also it's elemental, sorta. The Doctor is blue (water), Simon is whitish (air), Riddick is bronze, gold, and brown (earth), and Johns is red (fire). Note that River has a very difficult time with her opposing element.  
Johns is, if you take the time to really look at his character, very mentally strong-willed. He's also quick-witted and very, very good at tracking down prison escapees like Riddick. His record before this point is 17 for 17, and the only quarry that has given him problems is the one he knows the best. That he's an egotistical bastard is another issue aside. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Two

Transmutation

The Doctor knows time is running out. He can feel it in his bones on a level that can't even be described. The possibilities lay before him like a selection of tapestries, each on depicting a maze of horrors and death that exist should he misstep even a little. Every decision alters his selection, discarding and reshuffling them, changing their order. It's always been like this, only before he could see the next life waiting in the distance like a safety net. But that is gone now, and all he sees in his own future is blackness and the unknown. Time shadowed until right before he needs to make a decision.

This is what it was like for other Time Lords, those who couldn't see past their current regeneration. He'd not known until his last life what this felt like, to be making blind decisions and hoping that the next selection was better than the last not worse. Like all his forgotten kin, he's blessed, or cursed, with an intimate awareness of every second that passes. But unlike them he refuses to be paralyzed by the possibilities that his choices will be the wrong ones. It's on this assumption that he's been working, that this choice to stay and help these people was the right one to make even if it leads to some of them following paths in the future that they might not otherwise have followed if he'd not interfered.

It's been twelve days. Twenty-five sunrises. They don't have much time left before the hunger escapes from its underground burrows. This 'morning', which is mid-day, the wind seems less stalwart, although the flickering light still indicates blowing sand. He's feeling trapped like most everyone else here is. On top of the ensnared feeling there is a pressing need building in him to retrieve his ship. He misses her with a longing that rips him up inside. She's been very quiet, giving him the space to work with the Tam siblings for which he's grateful, but sometimes he needs her to balance him, to bleed off the excess energy that builds in his system as a golden mist that would destroy even him given time. He needs her. He's always needed her. So now that he can't get to her, he feels antsy and snappish. The longer he's apart from her the less the key helps him cope with being away.

Why he hadn't insisted that they get her before the storm hit? He couldn't fathom his total ignoring of this now urgent desire. He hated being separated from her for any length of time. Anything over a week without at least touching her side was nearly impossible for him to cope with. Now it had been far longer than a week. The Time Lord suspected that the oversight had more to do with the TARDIS making sure that he stayed than anything else did. _Blasted stubborn old girl_.

He settles the last of seven cryo-lockers into its place and begins bolting it in. There's an eighth locker, but it is set up as shelves for the tanks of cryo-drugs and the power cells, which don't fit back into the same place as the originals. Two of the cryo-boxes are those the crew used, chosen so that the computer's data would read on the inside of the plexi-glass door. The other working five are standard passenger lockers.

Although the skiff is nearly ready, there really should be a week's worth of testing for loose connections and mistakes. Lives could depend on it. He has a feeling though that somehow those tests won't get run. Carolyn ambles up the gangplank and peeks inside, "Wow. Tight fit." She looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her clothes are loose on her thin frame showing she hasn't been eating either. Her blonde hair is a mess, needing a brushing and perhaps a good washing in hot water too.

Looking up at her with concern, the Doctor replies, "Yes. But at least those leaving will have a chance."

"Won't be me. I'll stay. Let one of the others live. That's fair, don't you think?"

The kneeling man narrows his startlingly deep blue eyes, "Carolyn. That's noble, really, but they are going to need a pilot." His selections rearrange showing that she's made her choice, and if anyone has to be left behind she is staying.

"Johns can pilot. He's good enough." She can read his questioning look, but can tell that he is going to let it drop. It's like he knows she can't be moved from her decision.

The possibility is that none of this will work anyhow. The majority of his selections are showing the skiff sputtering on takeoff or going up in a massive fireball. But there are a few that tell him the skiff might get people off this planet and to safety. He needs to eliminate the bad selections and tip his 'cards' to the possible good ones. Tiptoeing through a minefield would be easier. "This should be finished soon. Another four days for the engine work and it will be ready to soar. I want you to go get a few hours of sleep, Carolyn. You are in no condition to work on the engines right now."

Fry starts to protest but can't keep from yawning.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Richard had been doing his best, damn it all, to avoid the alien without making it seem like he was avoiding him. It was finding the gent's forest green, very soft, thin sweater folded under his military issue pillow that had driven home how much the Doctor realized about his 'addiction'. Not that the con had returned the bit of knitwear, or anything. It still sat under his pillow. He found he could sleep with it there. It was less embarrassing than having to stalk the man. The con had gone so far as to discover locations around the Hanger where he could work that seemed to collect the gent's scent, where the fans blew the air away from the skiff where the Doctor spent most his time. He tried to sit downwind of the man when they ate too. Fuckin' annoying, this constant need. But he found that fighting it was too much effort.

Every opportunity he could offer, he would wash the dishes. He kept track of the Doctor's plate, silverware, and cup. Sometimes, when others weren't looking he would switch them with his own next time around. Not that anyone would care. But his food and water seemed sweeter that way, like the taste of the man clung to everything he touched. Obsessive. He couldn't help himself. But he didn't dare risk opening that door any further than it already was. He didn't dare try to figure out why he was doing what he was doing.

Working with River or Simon helped a little, almost as though the Doctor was infusing them with whatever it was that the con craved. It was too weak to satisfy totally, but it lessened the drive to do something rash. So he tried to be nice to the two kids, to make them understand that they were safe around him. He'd likely go off on anything that tried to harm them in any way without a second thought. Besides, Simon had done him a good turn, more than once, and he was determined to repay him for his benevolence. And he just plain liked the girl; she had an odd, sharp, and biting wit that amused him.

Fry walked back into the 'safe zone' comprised of the inner walls and crates offset with sharp points layered to created the most protection. With a heavy sigh she settled onto her cot and scrubbed her eyes. The Doctor had sent her back to sleep, seeing as she'd not even lain down before. Problem was, every time she closed her eyes she remembered trying to jettison the passenger bay, her conversation with Johns, and his later retort. She looked over at Riddick. His goggles were off, the lights here being flicked to the 'sleep' position; his form was relaxed, booted feet propped up on the frame's back end. His arms cushioned his head under his pillow. She could see something dark tucked under one bronze elbow, "Is you mattress stained?"

"Wha'? Oh. That. Nope." He doesn't seem inclined to explain.

She made a face at him; "Well you sleep ok, so I suppose you've found somethin' to keep the demons at bay." Slowly she forces herself to relax against the mattress.

He rolls over and props himself up on one arm, pulling the thin v-neck top out with the other, "It's a sweater, Fry. See?"

She half-mimics his position and studies the deep green cloth, "A rather nice one, too. About your size, if you like them fitted. Maybe the sleeves are a bit long." She is wondering where he got it, because she doesn't remember seeing anything like it.

Leaning toward her, he lowers his voice into a whisper, "It's the Doctor's." Then he does something unexpected, "Smell it."

She swings back to a sitting position and leans over to catch a sleeve. She doesn't try to take it away from Rich, but she does put the soft knit to her nose and takes a whiff of the faint sweet rich scent that clings to it in spite the fact that Riddick has had it under his pillow. "You know, I just realized – he smells like honey."

The silver-eyed man chuckles, "Yeah."

"I'll never be able to eat the stuff again without thinking of him," she shivers slightly even though it's quite warm. "So why do you have it?"

He shrugs, "It's different. Makes me calm. Be thankful I do have it, Carolyn. Otherwise I would have gone for Johns already."

"That I understand. I'm surprised _I_ haven't snapped on him. You think the Doctor is keeping us from each other's throats, Rich? I mean, every time things get to be too much, he's there. Like magic."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Outside, the wind was silent. It was like the planet decided to take a breath and be still for a moment. Midmorning and the shadows have fled for just a little while, letting the sun back in like a tease.

Abu rolls open the main hanger doors and takes a deep breath of the 'fresh' air. Then he turns and calls for Hassan and Suleiman to help him push the 'cat out so it can recharge. He knows that the Doctor wants to head down the crash scar and pick up his 'box'. A short while later a single trailer is brought out and attached to the 'cat. He's eager to take a little trip and get away from the hanger for a bit. Twelve days inside is enough to test even his resolve.

Fry is toiling with the engine of the skiff and insisting that there's only room for one to labor on it. Since the box is heavy, Riddick, Imam, the Doctor, Johns and the older two pilgrims are going. Jack and Ali protest until Paris reminds them that there are buildings they have yet to salvage in the settlement. Simon chooses to stay behind with River who is reading different manuals about the skiff's systems and indirectly helping the blonde by directing her repairs through suggestions. The power cells for the skiff are still locked up, and with Abu going on this venture Johns knows the skiff will still be there when they return.

They load up and head out. The path they follow takes them back through the canyon, through the boneyard, across the spired hills, but not to the crash site. The Doctor seems to be following a route that only he knows across the alien landscape.

It's mid afternoon when the 'cat comes to a halt above the edge of the crash scar. There's a sight that makes them all lean back like the 'cat itself is going to be sucked in. All but the Doctor who nearly flies out of the vehicle, "Oh – no." He is too distraught to even get anything else out. In front of them is a huge sinkhole that has pulled the entire middle of the crash scar into darkness below the surface. One wan hand comes up over the alien's mouth as he processes the dilemma. More than a hundred square feet of the surface has dropped into the hollow below. _My TARDIS is down there_. If anything, even more color drains from his already pale skin.

Richard scrambles out of the 'cat. He doesn't know what the box is but he does know that it is quite important to the man. Important enough for him to act totally out of character. The ex-ranger has never seen the Doctor so upset before. His impulse is to ground the gent, to make him see that the box isn't they only thing he needs to think about here. He steps up and reaches for the leather-clad arm. "Whoa, Doc," says Riddick, grabbing that arm with a strong grip so that the Time Lord doesn't try something extremely stupid. The con is alarmed further by the fact that the Doctor does not react to being called 'Doc'. Something about that box is very, very vital to him.

Johns shakes his head, "Gone. Hope it wasn't too important."

Now it's a good thing that the ex-ranger has a hold of him, the Doctor thinks, or he'd throw the pigheaded flame-haired man down that hole, "Not important? It might have saved our lives. But I suppose that isn't all too pressing at the moment, is it, _marshal_?" Richard can feel a tingle in his fingers through the leather that he can only classify as rage, not anger, not being pissed off, but elemental fury of a sort that he's never felt in another before. He tightens his grip.

Abu steps in; "Perhaps a flare and the scope will help us locate it?"

"Fuckin' waste of time and resources, Father. Let's get the hell back to the skiff and get the fuck off this planet," William says, completely oblivious to the danger he's in.

"Give the man a flare and your scope, Billy."

"Fuck you, Rich," Johns walks back to the 'cat but can't drive the thing. He climbs into the back and waits.

The merc has now angered two of them. But unlike the Doctor, Riddick is used to feeling this way about his blue-eyed-devil. It might not be the best of things to just strangle him though. The con closes his eyes and counts to ten, slowly, in Chinese. The alien's emotions are boiling hot, a stark contrast to how he normally comes across. Catching the Doctor's eyes, he says, "Let me deal with him. Just give me a minute." The man looks away with a snort. Rich reaches over and turns the Doctor's face toward his own. "Try your key, huh? And don't just jump in after it." _Trust me_.

The alien's expression calms slightly and he nods once Rich moves his hand away. Abu steps in; "It will work out. Have faith." The Doctor slipped his key off and began trying to call the ship up to him with it, but is instead getting a directional pull down and diagonal to the right. _Stubborn ship_. He's not sure how Riddick does it but the con comes back with the scope and a flare. "I believe it should be that way," Imam says, looking at the pull on the key.

The ex-ranger pops the flare and gives it a hard throw then pulls the scope out. After a moment he says, "Is that it?" while handing the scope to the Doctor.

The TARDIS is sitting at a slight angle, surrounded by dirt just on the edge of the flare's glow. She looks well dusted but unharmed otherwise. "Yes." Unfortunately there's no way to even get to it to hook up a drag cable. And the shadows are moving with ravenous intent. "We'll have to come up with a plan."

"We've got a day yet. Let's go back to the hanger and figure out what gear we have that we can use to get it out."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

By sundown-sunrise it was clear that Johns was not going to help at all. He locked himself into the office shortly after they arrived back and was not responding to any attempts to get him out. The Doctor refused to be concerned about him, refused to open the lock, and refused to bother making him a plate of food even. Enraging the Doctor wasn't going to prove to be one of the merc's smarter moves.

Riddick, Simon and River put their heads together and try to take stock of the gear they have. It consists of some makeshift items that pass as caving gear, lights, cable, and pickaxe. There's a solar powered wrench and hitch that they can tow out to the hole too.

The problem is, even if they can get to the box they aren't sure about getting it out. River looks at the Doctor whose frothing deep blue-black clouds look very much like violent storm driven danger signs at the moment and tells the others, "We don't need to get it out. We just need to get to it." The Time Lord's rage seems tightly controlled, but it's ready to overflow at any moment.

It's Jack that comes up with a solution, "Why don't you just use the wrench line as a climbing guide? Load up on lights, or maybe use something as a mirror to reflect light down there to keep the creatures back and just climb down?" It's simple and child-like in its idea. But simple might just be the way to go here.

They can do it if they have the time. They have trailers with beds that can be sanded down to the metal. Raising and lowering the angle to get the reflection right might take two flat , shiny planes, so they have to take one trailer apart. The ex-ranger smirks at the kid, "Why not? It's a pretty good idea Jack." He puts a hand on the boy's head and rubs it back and forth. "Come on, let's see if we can do this." It's gonna be a race against time. The solar powered sanders are put to use, while Riddick makes a frame to put the polished metal surfaces into. Even Ali and Jack are allowed to help. If they can beat the eclipse to the Doctor's box they will. If not then they'll figure something else out.


	23. Part TwentyThree Aegis

**A/N:**_ Well, you didn't think I wouldn't make them face the gauntlet did you? They just ain't after power cells.  
Another 'What if', sorta: What would an eclipse of this nature really look like, as the solar tides and gravity lock planets into a line that they can't escape? How fast would this really occur since it takes the system up to 14 years to break free?  
My Reflection (sorry about your pounding head, did you get a Dalek stuck in there?), ck16 and Robin Moto (heh, I see you are hitting near every chapter with a review. I feel so honored that my writing for whatever reason inspires you to respond), great feedback, Thank you very much._

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Three

Aegis

_They are waiting. Hunger drives everything they do. Teeth gash and claws slash in the cramped darkness below as they yearn for the freedom of flight, wind cool against their leathery skin, the feel of rain and renewing moisture that only fell while the fires were away, and the burn of their need to beget the next generation. They are so many, forced back into ancient tunnels and caverns by the invisible enemy that flames ever so hot, ever so bright. It pains them with its rays. But soon… Soon this will change again. The entire world will shift, and they will have the sky. _

_Sharp talons scramble for purchase on the hollow tubes, where they gather for their emergence. For the little ones this will be their first time in the sky, for the older, the bigger… this will be the time to fight for position, mates, food… And like the last time there are better things to eat than each other. Better blood to drink then the weak blue liquid that flows through their own veins. Delicate things, rich and tasty, easy to catch, highly prized for their flavor…_

The ebony haired teen sat up suddenly from a sound sleep, a strangled cry attempting to emerge from her throat. For a disorienting moment she can smell the blood that courses through the veins of all those here._ Rich, coppery, warm blood. A local delicacy, with a crunchy center. The ideal way to earn a mate_. The part of her mind that is a girl, River, tries to scramble away from the alien invaders, panicked at the intense touch of the mass intelligence all focused on one thing: the coming aegis.

Simon scrambles at the sound that manages to escape from his _Mei-Mei_'s throat. It's a horrible choking sound, half a scream and half a sob. He catches her as she starts to fall from her cot, wild-eyed but unseeing, "River! _Mei-Mei_, I'm here." She hasn't acted like this for days, and he'd almost forgotten her true state. Now when he touches her he feels a vibration in his mind that is gray, sharp, dangerous, alien… What ever it is, it overwhelms her. Unconcerned for his own mental status, he thrusts his way into the slashing layer, looking for the kernel that is River.

When he finds the crystal blue pool that is her, he spreads out like a shield, forcing away the foreign mass-mind from his sister's psyche. She clings to him like he's a life jacket as the other presence is swept away by the Storm. Simon can see the blue-black bubbling turbulence of the mentality as it arrives, and he wonders if this other alien mind is something he should worry about, not perceiving it as the Doctor because he is seeing from River's point of view. Until his and the Time Lord's minds actually touch. It's the rumble, what he once thought was distant voices but now knows is lightening, that he recognizes.

Opening his eyes Simon takes in the quickly fading colors and eddies that make up his sister's world. '_No_,' he thinks, '_I don't want to lose this_!' but it diminishes in spite his struggle to retain it. His mind is not completely ready yet and rejects the extra input. River is still clinging to him, warm tears soaking into his shirt. He rubs her back and looks into the hard flinty blue eyes and chiseled face of the pale man with his too large ears and baby fine brown hair. He's a bit envious, that this alien can see what his _Mei-Mei_ sees and he cannot. "River, they are gone. It's Okay. They're gone," he whispers into her hair while maintaining that intense eye contact with those timeless blue eyes. '_Teach me. Let me see what she does. Help me understand_.'

The Doctor's face softens. This is what he's been waiting for, the invitation to shatter this boy's -- no -- man's mind and piece it back together again. That Simon wants it means he won't fight the process, won't reject it, won't be driven mad by it. But his mind will be just as weak as River's mind for a long while after, and the Time Lord knows that guarding them both falls onto his shoulders. But he owes them this and so much more.

Simon doesn't hear words. His world explodes into color and shapes as the cool fingers settle against his temples. Time is running out. There's a sense of urgency. Swirls of gold and amber, ethereal filaments flickering in physical space that indicated connections of energy, mental intent, temporal possibilities, or life force. Beyond that are the auras of those around them. The hot fire of the marshal, the smoldering smoke of the docking pilot, the spring brightness of the Imam, the varying degrees of nature in the pilgrim brothers, the deeper soil richness of Jack, the metallic earth of the ex-ranger, the constant movement of percolating mist of the Doctor, and the sweet liquid flow of his _Mei-Mei_. He studies it all in wonder; it's so beautiful. He can scarcely believe that this is what River sees all the time even as he knows the truth of it.

And he can sense the buzz of the native life. _They_ are waiting. It is like a constant drone, inescapable. He wants to shield River from it but can only lessen the alien presence.

It's forever, eternity, and yet an instant in time. He understands, but he can't force his mind to bridge the gap alone, yet. But he does grasp what it is that River has. Those extra senses that they were both born with that he has filtered out when she cannot. He also knows that what they see is only a third of what the Doctor sees. And he's inside the void, in the eye of the storm with River and she's dancing. Somehow, they belong here.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Carolyn has been working on the engines of the skiff with Abu for nearly an entire sunrise to sunset straight. She can barely see the wires in front of her, much less the read the manual for the damn thing. It's tipping to twilight, the blue star sinking into that hour of pseudo-night before the yellow sun rises. She scrubs her eyes. They still have 2 days worth of rough rewiring to do before she can risk hooking up fresh power cells to test their work. They have barely two sunrises left before the eclipse hits.

The blue star dims on the horizon, twinkling as the faster inner planet wobbles over its face. She looks at the holy man and then out at the sky. Faint shimmering bands cut into the darkening sky where the yellow sun should rise. The distortion is moving now, slowly, like almost not, but if one really concentrates on them they are. How the settlers could have missed the oncoming eclipse is beyond her. '_One more day, just one more_…' she prays, fearful that perhaps they won't get both of the two remaining predicted sunrises.

Over at the trailer being converted to mirrors, Riddick orders, "Keep working. Don't stop! We're almost done." The pilgrims and Jack jerk their eyes away from the shimmering bands of light and dark cutting across the darkening sky and turn back to their work. The solar powered sanders sputter but still manage to buff the paint off. He turns his attention back to wielding once he has the boys focused on the polishing.

Paris is over with them, holding a support beam steady as it is attached into place by bolts that Hassan is installing. He's never been too sure about the skiff and right now it doesn't look overly much like it is going to be ready in time. Getting into a cryo-chamber on a ship that might explode on takeoff really doesn't seem like much of a good idea to him.

He's fought with Johns over pushing the skiff to be done before the eclipse happens, trying to make the man understand the danger of not having everything checked and double-checked for safety's sake. If the marshal had his way, they would have taken off yesterday, regardless of the fact that the skiff wouldn't have done much more than glide across the planet's surface unable to break free of the gravity due to weak thrust.

The art dealer has just about given up on the man, although he'd tried to take his side, standing with Imam about how they should give everyone a fair shot at survival. Not that the others have said any different, but Paris gets the distinct impression that Johns backed himself into a corner and lost the support of most everyone that might have had a good heart enough to spare him. He has to wonder if the ideal solution wouldn't have been to just go into cryo-sleep through the eclipse on the hopes that they had enough drugs to outlast the darkness.

The Arabic youth finished and said, "Done there. Still helping?"

Paris gives him an odd look, "Of course. Is there more?"

"Another beam, down low. You want to rivet? Or me?"

"I'll hold." It's only after the beam is moved into place and the boy began to sing while he worked in the twilight that Paris realized that he understood what the youth had been saying. Hassan didn't speak English. He didn't speak Arabic. So how did he understand the lad?

His puzzled expression becomes more of a frown as he watches the redhead move out into the twilight, the long shadows fading into the same dim murkiness as everything else as the twinkling blue star slides down past the horizon. The bands across the sky at sunrise toss golden spikes across the deep blue sky, indicative of the reflection of the sunlight off the planetary rings. And Johns just stares out at them, not working, not helping, not supporting any of their chances one way or the other. Even the youngest boys have consistently tried to help, no matter how much he'd complained about their noise.

Simon and River both move over to the skiff, each seeming to support the other. The Doctor walks behind them, as if to catch them should they fall. Only after Carolyn agrees that more hands checking connections is better than one do the trio set in to double-check her work. It doesn't make the art dealer feel any better about getting onto the skiff when River begins to undo a section of the wiring and proceeds to redo every connection altering them as she goes. At least River has been sleeping and has memorized the manuals for the skiff. What else might be off because the docking pilot has been burning the candle at both ends?

The twilight lasts longer this time, nearly two hours, as the yellow star and it's ruddy companion have to clear the rings that are blocking them before actually hitting the ground. As they clear the final ring and cast their heat across the soil there's a fearsome wail that seems to rise from the ground making it vibrate. The noise makes the art dealer tremble. Those _things_ know that the eclipse is approaching. "I need to go inside. Please hurry, Hassan," he mumbles. He's going to lock himself inside the 'safe area' for a while and try to calm his nerves down.

"You are in the Light. This is safer than being inside. It is God's way of protecting you," says the youth.

"But, young man, I can't _piss_ out here. There are women around."

Hassan has the cheer to laugh at the statement; "This is very true."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Throughout the day the planetary rings reached up into the sky chasing the twin suns on their morning path, only seeming to give up after the stars reached the zenith of the sky. The Doctor frowns at the bands as if his scowl can chase them away. The planet itself breeches the horizon before lumbering across the sky, down low, pacing and gaining on the suns, the rings seeming to strive for catching the light and imprisoning it. The scene makes for an eerie decoration in the once flawless sky. This must have been the sight for the last 13 days, although it was blocked by the sandstorm.

By the time the mirrors are done the twinkling blue star is on the rise, but the yellow and red ones have yet to set. The rings catch up to the red star filtering the entire landscape with a ruddy hue. But it isn't total. They have one sunrise left. The blue star is much fainter, as if it has caught and is holding the smaller planet almost still now. There is not much light to reflect. But it does seem to be enough illumination to keep the natives from coming out.

"If you are gonna try it…" Fry calls.

Abu is looking over the 'cat. "I'm not sure we have a way to pull it. There is not enough solar energy to power the vehicle."

"Then everyone inside. When the yellow sun goes down those things might decide to scout. We'll figure out something, " she orders.

The boys push the mirrors inside, and then return for the 'cat as the last of the yellow light fades. There's a squeal that echoes on the breeze, as the creatures prepare for the coming night. This 'day' is going to be twilight. The survivors swing the doors closed. "We better get the power cells hooked up to the system so we have light, water and heat for cooking," Paris says as he moves over to the locked storage where the cells are.

Imam follows him, "I agree. At this point our reliance on solar power is dangerous."

"Hey. We have a day yet, why waste the energy?" Johns asks.

"Because we _don't_ have a day yet. We have maybe half a day of twilight before total darkness overtakes us."

The merc swings around to look at the alien, who thus far had not said a word, "So you lied. You said we had fourteen days."

"I said very clearly, Mr. Johns, that it might be thirteen and a half days."

"You also said that ten of us would fit on the skiff, but I only see room for seven."

The Doctor narrows his eyes, "I left open the allowance for ten, but made no guarantees."

Outside the eerie clicking wail builds as whatever it underfoot anticipates what the next half day will bring. Riddick locks the inner re-enforced doors with a loud click.

"Cut it out, Johns!" Fry steps in between the two glaring men. "We don't have time for this. If you had wanted so bad to get the fuck off this rock then maybe you should have been helping!"

"I've been h-- "

"No, You haven't! You didn't cook, you didn't clean up, you didn't help Paris plot on the map, or the Doctor build the life support system from scratch. You sure as hell haven't been helping with the rewire. Pounding a few spearheads or supporting a wall that doesn't need support hardly counts." Carolyn explodes at him; "The boys brought over the crates, welded them together, and built the inner doors. Riddick re-enforced most of the roof by himself, built the inner defensive line, made the support shelving for the cryo-drugs and power cells, on top of doing the damn dishes every meal. Simon's been learning electronics and life support systems as he goes. River has been directing my fixing the engine by reading the manuals and telling me what I should do. Even Jack and Ali scoured the settlement and found bedding, toiletry supplies, and rations. You, on the other hand, have been higher than a kite this entire time while we are all busting our asses here!"

The words are enough to have nearly everyone watching them. "If this is about Owens again, Fry --"

"This has nothing to do with Owens, Johns. Nothing to do with Zeke, or Shazza. Nothing to do with anything other than your little red friend there," with that Carolyn points at the red shell that he's been playing with the entire time. "Now, we are not leaving until I know for sure that the skiff is not going to go up in a fireball. If that means we sit here in the dark for two more weeks then so be it. But -- I hear one more word out of you against the Doctor, I will personally escort you to the doors and you can find your own damn shelter."


	24. Part TwentyFour Gauntlet

**A/N:**_ Thanks to Robin Moto, My Reflection, and ck16 for the reviews.  
Ah… TARDIS? Oh yeah, they will have to go get the Doctor's ship. He won't leave without it (you know that). Um… Something's gonna happen to force them in to having to "make a mad dash" yeah. I blame a random mutant plot bunny.  
My beta says I should have the skiff fall on top of Johns and be busted by his hard head, lol. But yes, he's digging himself a very deep hole here. Could it be the morphine?  
Most people that meet the Doctor are not aware of the "translation" that comes from him (or the TARDIS) because they all speak the same language. There are folks noticing it here and being puzzled by it but they have so much more on their minds… like people eating natives and getting caught in the dark.  
As for what happened to Simon… If River is ever going to leave the Doctor's side there is going to have to be someone else filtering for her. Better for it to be Simon, as he won't leave her anyhow. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick cross-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Four

Gauntlet

Everything that could be run on the power cells or backup generators had been switched over during the twilight 'night' of the partially blocked blue star. The lights were brought in to a more centrally located arrangement with leaders heading off to the restrooms and the skiff. The white sheets were hung to help with reflection of the ambient light. The outer doors and windows became places to avoid.

At the moment when sunrise should have happened, the twelve survivors gathered at the table. Imam and the pilgrims thought that they should attempt to reach the Doctor's box. Paris remained neutral. Johns was set against it. In the brief few hours of sunlight the day would bring, the survivors would have made it half way to their goal, as such the Doctor refused to risk it. He hated to agree with the merc, but it was pointless to be caught out in the desert, with a non-working vehicle, when the eclipse struck. Fry and Simon looked to the Time Lord and saw that he didn't believe they could make it in time. Riddick suggested that instead they devote the sunlight to strengthening their spirits because once it was gone it would be gone for a very long time.

So they watched for the first rays of the yellow sun's brave attempt as it fought to cast its rays against the little yellow rocky world. They knew that this day would bring darkness as the sun was chased and swallowed by the luminous rings and a dark shield of the gas giant world. As the light came they threw open the Hanger doors, inner and outer, and gathered on the runway or the doorway and absorbed those last few hours of sunshine, for once not working feverishly, because they knew now that it made no difference. They would be stuck here until the skiff was done, and it was better to take the time to pay homage to their protector one last time than to ignore it and have regrets later. Imam led them, all but Johns, in prayer. Even the Doctor and Riddick were respectful although they didn't actually join in the repeating the words.

The Time Lord stood focused on his ship, hand clutched around the key, mentally screaming for her to respond and come to him. In response he received a sweet mental whisper, and a definite refusal. She was unharmed. He was unharmed. And if he really thought about it, there were ways to get to her, even after darkness fell. She challenged him to come up with one. She could be so very stubborn, mule-like stubborn, sometimes.

For once it was Richard that steadied and grounded the Doctor and not the other way around. The large but skilled hand that settled on his shoulder eased the tension away. Neither man said anything as the watched the shadows shorten, the shimmering bands climb ever closer to the star that still gave them light, and the desperate prayers of the others looking for a absent higher power to help them.

Both know that they should be doing something, but they are reluctant to look away from the sunshine, the last they will see here for a very long time. It's the ex-ranger's presence that causes the Doctor to see the TARIS's actions in a new light. Even though Simon is ready to leave, the con has not yet learned everything he's meant to learn. They can't leave yet. He lets the key go, allows it to settle back into his pocket. The decision to stay prompts his tapestry of choices to rearrange. Suddenly he can see only one way off this planet. It angers him that he's been cornered into this. No matter what he does, people are going to die here. Some of them have been living on borrowed time since the crash.

He really hates knowing that.

The rings of the giant planet caught up to the yellow sun just before noon, casting the entire world into ruddy twilight. The red star never made it out from behind the dark and light bands leaving them tinged bloody red throughout the morning. Paris is the first to realize that they shouldn't be outside once the light fails while the others are totally mesmerized by the eerie sound of countless voices screeching out their joy at the freedom from the light, "I do believe we should be inside." He manages to get to his feet and back away as the noise coming from the canyon grows. Off that way another darkness, like smoke, is pouring from the spire-tops. The misty cloud forms waves, ropes, and eddies as countless hatchlings dance, with mass intelligence, through the sky, squealing in delight. He backs slowly toward the hanger not once removing his eyes from the eerie sight.

"Jesus, how many can there..." murmurs Johns from the inner doorway.

The living gravity-defying soot keeps rising, filling the deep ruddy sky with thick ripples of dark and darker. Mercifully for the survivors as most of them remain kneeling or siting, spellbound, twisted to watch the black forms against the deep orange-brown sky, the hatchlings are too caught up in their new freedom to be hunting. The bulk of them are moving away from the Hanger. "Allah..." whispers Imam. One flowing branch cleaves from rest -- and gracefully twists through the air until it is heading their direction.

"Just a suggestion, but perhaps we should be moving inside," the art dealer says again.

This time they listen; Fry ordering, "Come on, into the hanger, let's go!" everyone scrambled to their feet and began snatching up various items of worship before heading in a fast clip to the doors.

The wave of hatchlings speeds their way. River reaches the door, one arm full, the other dragging Paris. Riddick is waiting to close the outer portal, but won't if there are people still outside. The pilgrims must gather up their rugs and their books, and they scoop them up in a mad rush. Fry skids to a halt at the Doctor's side; then Simon and Jack arrive. Imam is urging Ali to hurry, finally resorting to grabbing the boy, "The rug is not as important as your life, child." The sharp black cloud is close enough now for them to hear the clicking of their teeth and claws as they snap at the flowing cloth. Abu passes the Doctor with Hassan and Suleiman on his heels. The Time Lord raises his sonic screwdriver, and it, with an intense buzz, forces the hatchlings to swerve away.

They scream with anger as the tiny metallic tube with a pinprick burn on the tip in that pale hand cheats them from their meal. The Doctor tugs the docking pilot back as he steps inside the outer hanger door. Not until the metal hits the floor with a clang does he lower the device. Soon after there's the pelting sound of a thousand tiny claws trying to cut their way into the Hanger on the main entrance. The survivors back further into the enclosed space. Hassan and Imam push the inner doors closed as soon as they are all clear. It is only after, that Johns says from his position inside a patch of blue glow, "And so it begins."

Beyond this are deeper clicking, larger wails, and the sound of crumbling dirt. Fry looks to Riddick as the sound builds, "What is it? That noise? What's happening?" Because thus far the only thing she's encountered have been the little ones.

River whimpers. Simon drops the implements and bowls that he'd grabbed from the prayer circle and encloses _Mei-Mei_ in his arms.

"Like I told you. Ain't _me_ you gotta worry about," Riddick replies.

The Tam scion swallows, "The adults are emerging from the burrows." Through his little sister he can feel them, climbing, digging, launching, and soaring through the cooling air, ready to hunt and eat. Searching for the red blood that they have found so appealing.

Outside the gas giant's bulk overtakes both suns. The world goes dark. Howls of glee fill the air.

"Quiet, please. Everyone," says Imam as he listens to the sounds through the doors. The others pile up alongside him their ears tuned like radar. Clicking in waves sweeps over the outer door and echoes between it and the inner one.

Jack whispers, "Why do they do that? Make that sound?"

Abu thinks and then replies, "Perhaps, it is the way they see. With sound, reflecting back."

"Echo-location._ That's_ what it is..." Paris says.

Carolyn Fry is shaking. After all she's done, all she's struggled with, the drive to live that has caused her to make such bad choices, she's reduced to a frightened child faced with phantoms that are all too real. What if the doors aren't strong enough? What if the roof isn't? What if the light fails? She is so tired.

"So. Now what?" Suleiman asks.

"What is that doohickey you used to drive off the hatchlings?" Johns cuts in. He sounds accusing again, but was careful to not actually voice it.

Imam steps in, "Let us gather around the table and eat. We need clear heads and empty bellies don't lend themselves to such things."

Instead of answering the marshal's question the Doctor steps up to the hotplate and begins the process of cooking. Simon and River step in to assist him, equally quiet. The three seem to function as an extension of each other, to Johns' way of looking at it. As if there isn't enough fucked up things going on here, now there's this. He looked over at Sir-Shiv-a-Lot, "What is that gizmo he used to force the hatchlings back?"

"How should I know? Some sonic toy of his, I suspect. Maybe if you help out with the table or something you'll actually get fed this time," Richard replies as he and Carolyn began to set the table. Johns makes a face and takes the stack of silverware that Fry is holding. He sets out the place-settings.

Jack and Ali fetch water from the reclamation unit now functioning on battery power for both the meal and the cleanup after.

Paris settles one of his antique vases in the center of the table filled with paper flowers that the boys created from an activity book when they were trying to stay out of the adults' way.

Soon there's a hot meal on the table with water, wine, and tea to drink. Even Johns is included, which is a first in over a day. After a short prayer food is passed around and quiet talk starts up in scattered conversations. It's hard to act as if everything is normal when there are creatures lusting after your blood just outside the door.

"How soon can the skiff be ready?" Paris asks from across the table.

"Don't know. River's been double-checking my work, and what she's found hasn't been promising. I need to take a break from it and get more than two hours of sleep," Fry replies.

"Then by all means, do so. Dr. Tam, do you have anything that can help Carolyn get some rest?" Imam inquires

"A small glass of wine wouldn't be amiss, actually."

The docking pilot makes a face as Paris pours her a glass. At the far end of the table the boys chatter on about the creatures, oblivious to the nightmare inducing reality of the situation, as of yet. To them it's all too surreal.

Off at the other end of the table, feeling dizzy and disconnected, the Doctor sipped his tea, played with his food (what little of it he'd taken), and let everything just wash over him. It's been over two weeks since he's touched his ship. It's been over two weeks since he slept. His eyes drift over the group, and settle on the one thing keeping him here. The con is silently watching his blue-eyed-devil.

Johns pushes away his empty plate and drains his glass. He leans back, "I thought you said the rough wiring was done this morning because you had six hands working on it, Fry."

"That doesn't mean you can just slap in the 160 gigs of power and go, Johns. One loose connection and the entire system will burn out like a string of firecrackers," Carolyn says before she yawns. "I'm gonna get some sleep. I've been burning the midnight oil so long that I don't even remember what it feels like to be not tired." The blonde pushes away from the table and sets her dishes beside the slink.

Its exactly what Paris has been telling Johns the entire time. He expects the marshal will ignore Fry's words just as his own were. "Who's doing the dishes?" asks Imam.

The pilgrims jump up and begin gathering dirty plates and bowls and moving over to the sink. For a change, Rich lets them do it. His mind is too busy trying to figure out what the merc is planning.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Almost everyone decided to follow Carolyn's example and try to rest. Maybe it's the being inside yet another set of walls, behind another layer of doors and sharp spikes, bathed in light even though they want to sleep, that is the attraction. Maybe it's the need to stay together. Even the Doctor settled down into his cot, the first time anyone can recall him using it ever. Riddick makes like he's sleeping, but he's really standing guard, without the standing part.

But Johns mumbled something about not being tired, wanting to read the manuals, to try helping out for a change, and no one bothered to call him on it. Thus the redhead is out at the table reading the manuals for the engines of the skiff. He moves over and began comparing the diagrams to the real thing. It sure looks finished to him. Why can't the engine check be run? How much damage can a single power cell do? He'd guess not much. There's no extra info about output or input in the guide.

As long as the merc doesn't do anything stupid, Rich is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Every other time when he's needed a wild card, Johns has pulled one for him. He's sure hoping that this is the case now. Otherwise he'll kill the man, slowly.

River wanders past Richard's cot and climbs up into the Time Lord's. The gent doesn't respond to her presence, and she doesn't try to wake him, choosing to curl up against his side and to hold his large hairless hand in her own. Riddick studies the pair. It's like a father and a daughter; the way River acts toward the alien. He smiles slightly at them and worries the sweater with his thumb.

Johns thinks, yes he does. He double-checks everything, makes sure it is right. Stops and has a hit to make sure his brain is functioning before he tries anything, even. He reads the manual again, looks over the instructions for running an engine check. And then he pauses and thinks some more.

They have seven hours of blessed restful not quite silence. Riddick is first aware of the rain when it starts, and that drowns out the relentless clicking screeches that had been faintly filling the air.

Rain. It's raining. _There's nothing wrong with the connections, no reason why to not do an engine check,_ Johns thinks. He hates the rain. Reminds him of home. It was always raining there. Besides if the engine check works they'll be that much closer to leaving, right? He turns and re-hooks the power cell to the system, not realizing that there's a converter sitting right next to the loose wires that should be used. He straightens up and toggles the power on.

Suddenly there's a sparking pop followed by flickering light and heat and the smell of burning wire insulation. Riddick springs to his feet, along with the Doctor and Simon, both of which must be very light sleepers. The Tam scion pauses to grab his bag while both the other two dash out into the main area of the hanger. The Doctor does not pause, heading right for the smoldering vehicle. Richard grabs fire retardant and follows on his heels. It's a matter of seconds before a coughing Johns is pulled from the skiff, and the inside is slathered in smothering foam.

The Doctor is livid, "Just what, in Rassilon's name, did you do?" He shakes the redhead like the merc is a rag doll. "Never mind, I already know. You didn't use the converter, did you?"

"What converter? I didna see no converter!" Johns coughs out.

"Such a stupid, selfish child." He flings the merc away.

William Johns stumbles but manages to keep his feet. Instead of coming up with a retort he pulls his gun, but by the time he has it raised he's facing that blue tipped silver gadget. "Oh, yeah? Will it stop bullets?"

"Billy," Riddick warns.

Simon has frozen over by the table and is just watching the events unfold.

"Fuckin' lay off, trash-baby," the merc waves the weapon the con's direction. There's a short burst of piercing hum and a faint metallic clicking. Johns does not notice.

"Put the gun down, Johns. You got no fuckin' idea what you are dealing with here," Riddick tries again. The Doctor's face is set in stone, hard and angered. This time he won't give the man a warning about the gun backfiring.

The marshal finally looks at the dark blue eyes of the man opposing him and shudders. The gun wavers. He shivers again, the weapon shaking now. All he can see is the harsh lined face and hazel green eyes of his dad, fresh from the mines where he worked after a twenty hour shift, ready to beat the living crap out of whoever he can catch just for the hell of it.

"Put it down, boy. Now." Even the Doctor's words echo what his father would say.

It's a fight, mentally, for Johns to not just drop the gun and retreat in tears. He's not sure where he is for a moment, nor who it is in front of him. Rain. It's raining. He can smell it, and hear it. Just like at home. He could never raise a weapon against his father, even to save himself from the abuse. Instead he lowers the gun and does not resist when a large bronze hand takes it from him.

Riddick keeps half an eye on the quivering redhead as he takes the pistol apart and pockets the bullets. The gun practically falls to pieces once he has the handle separated from the barrel because of the Doctor turning his sonic screwdriver on it anyhow. _Just great, leave it to Johns to choose now for a breakdown_.


	25. Part TwentyFive Collusion

**A/N:**_ Welcome to Brimseye, who has just starting reading this tale. Glad you like. __  
And I want to acknowledge Chopingrl84 who has placed this on Story Alert, thank you so much for the honor. To my faithful reviewers I give t__hanks.  
My Reflection, Riddick still needs to regain his humanity, as currently it's only the Doctor's influence that makes him pause in his actions.  
ck16, the gun was dissembled by the Doctor using the Sonic Screwdriver. So it can be put back together, If Johns gets all of the pieces back. _

_On a different note: I have to attend a funeral tomorrow and thus the next chapter might be delayed a day._

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Five

Collusion

Fry woke to the arid odor of wire insulation burning. _God No_! She stumbled out of bed, into Imam who was reacting just as she was, only a bit closer to the door. Richard, Simon, and the Doctor were already out there, leaving a wide-eyed River behind who was clutching the thin bedding on a cot that was not her own with a white knuckled grip.

"Am I smelling smoke?" Paris asked.

Over top of his question there's:

"Sorry, Father," from Carolyn

"I apologize, Ms. Fry," from Abu

The docking pilot and holy man both move to the door. Behind them Paris gets to his feet as well. Imam says back to the art dealer, "Yes, it does indeed smell as if something is burning." Then he orders Hassan and Suleiman to remain with Jack, River, and Ali.

It only takes one look to discover the source of the smoke. The skiff is decorated with the clear signs that the wiring has sparked out. Standing near the table is Simon, his healer's bag held in one hand. Over by the skiff, off the end of the ramp are the Doctor, Richard, and William. The con is taking apart one of the merc's guns while Johns trembles in the face of the Doctor's fury unleashed his direction.

"Simon, what happened?" Carolyn asks.

"I think there was a converter that was not hooked up, from what I overheard."

_Leave it to Johns… _The blonde shakes her head. It was a mistake any of them could have made. She could have done it before she'd gotten some sleep. But if the redhead had been helping the entire time he would have known and remembered about the converter, and instead he'd spent his time visiting with Lady Morphine. But they had bigger fish to fry. She moved to the skiff.

Paris followed her. After about thirty ticks he inquired, "Is it fixable?"

"You see a local ship supply depot anywhere around here?" Carolyn says with an eye roll. "I'd need kilometers of new wire, new connectors, and perhaps replacement boards. If you know where I can get that without leaving the safety of the Hanger I'd love to hear it." The art dealer looks over at Johns with venom. "I might be able to redo the engines with the cheap wire I replaced, but we'd have no life support. And the computer might be fried. If so we'd have no nav, either."

"So – No." Olgivie summed up.

She wanted to cry. Bawl even. After all that work, they were left with zilch. "No." Weariness sapped her ability to be angered at the moment. Would nothing go right? Carolyn curled in on herself and rocked a bit as she dealt with the strong emotions of helplessness and anguish.

Imam came up to them and placed a hand on her back, "God will see us through. You must have faith that there is a higher power at work, Carolyn. Come on," He helped her to her feet and steered her to the table. He sat her down and stepped over to make her some instant coffee.

If there was a higher power he must be mighty pissed with her at the moment to be throwing this much shit her way. To be _so_ close, less that a week away from takeoff, and to have it all go up in smoke. She dropped her head to the table. Maybe they should all just steal Johns' stash and kill themselves by OD. Maybe she should just eat a bullet. Maybe they should walk out into the rain and let the natives have at…

Behind her the Doctor manhandled the merc into the main sphere of light. "You, sit. And do not move," ordered the Time Lord as he pulled out a chair and dropped the redhead into it. Johns trembled and slumped in the seat. "Ought to just cuff you there, to keep you from causing further harm."

"Didna see a Co'verter," Billy mumbles weakly. He still can't quite remember where he is, nor who he's pissed off. He's pretty sure it's got to be a teacher from school because last time he got into trouble and wasn't beaten bloody on the spot was when he was in class. Oddly, he can't remember what subject he's taking at the moment, maybe electronics? He must've messed up something expensive for ol' Mr. Gatty to be so pissed off with him. He wonders when his dad will arrive to haul him home and if they will make it to the mule before he's given a nosebleed.

"Your English is atrocious."

"Doc. Stop insulting him. Billy's bad enough without being a boneless puddle of jelly." Riddick stepped in.

"Don't call me 'Doc'."

There's a sigh, "Right, sorry. Bob."

Somehow that manages to diffuse the Time Lord's ire instead of making it worse, "Tea?"

"I'll make it," Simon offers, seeing as Abu already had the pot of water on the hotplate.

That was a strange conversation for his school. Wait. He graduated years ago. Where the fuck was he? Johns looked up and blinked. _Crash. Planet. Eclipse. Monsters._ Oh dear lord, he's having flashbacks. He thought he'd stopped doing that after the war.

Carolyn looked up at the holy man as he placed a mug in front of her, "Thanks, Father." He rubbed her shoulder and settled down next to her with his own weak coffee.

Paris steps up to where Simon is preparing cups and fixes himself a mug of coffee adding some brandy to the mix. He moves the bottle over to the table in case Fry wants a drop in her coffee, too. He prefers this concoction to tea at the moment.

Its only after everyone has settled at the table that anyone dares to speak again, and it's Richard who speaks up, his hands curled around the mug of plain tea as if to absorb the heat of it, "Skiff's fucked, am I right? Looks like most of it was smoldering when I put down the foam."

"God, why?" Fry mumbles.

The Doctor clears his throat; "There's still my box. It's not what it seems. I assure you the risk would be worth it to those who survive the run."

"Exactly what is this box, anyhow?" Paris asks.

The Doctor looks at him; "It's a TARDIS. My ship. A lot more than it looks like."

He's been listening, trying to cope with his own problems but the Doctor's words piss him off. How dare the bastard have a way off this rock and play games with their lives by not saying anything sooner! Johns jumps to his feet in outrage, "Wha'? You fuckin' gotta ship?"

The Doctor glares at the redhead, "Sit. Down."

Riddick shakes his head and tugs his blue-eye-devil back into his chair. Now the marshal is throwing shards of glass with his gaze. "Johns, don't do this. Remember what Hoxie did to you? Imagine that a hundred times worse." The stare shifts off the Doctor and onto the con. Something in Rich's stance must scream the truth of the matter because the merc slumps again into his chair.

Fry brightens, "So that's why you wanted to try to reach it. Ok. At least we got something to hope for. Or, well, not much to lose, anyway. How far away is it, walking?"

"About a day and a quarter," Abu says. "Over ground, with the predators. I believe that everyone should be in on this decision. We should either all go or all stay."

The con looks at the holy man, "I'm gonna make a suggestion here. Why don't we use the underground tunnels that the natives have surely vacated? We have a way down, the Coring shaft, and the box, err, _Tardis_, sits in a sinkhole already."

"Those passages might be flooded," Paris says. "It's been raining for hours now."

"And there might be natural drainage. We won't know until we look," Rich counters.

Simon stands, "I'll tell the others to come out here. Will someone heat another pot of water?"

Fry stands, picks up the empty carafe, and fills it before setting it on the hot plate. "We'll need light, enough to get us through, and the kind the rain won't short."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

All twelve of them are gathered around the table, Johns in the 'hot seat' as it were with Imam and the ex-ranger flanking him. Simon sits with River just to the side, around the corner from were the redhead is. Across from the raven-haired siblings are Fry, Jack, and Ali. Next to River are Suleiman and Hassan. Paris and the Doctor take seats at the far end of the table.

"Alright. Thanks to human error, we don't have the skiff," Fry starts, "But according to the Doctor there might be another way. If even one of us doesn't want to go then we all stay, but remember the thirty settlers here before us died by huddling together in the dark."

Eleven sets of eyes look toward the Doctor. "Um… My 'box' is a ship, called a TARDIS. If we can make it to the location where the ship is then we will be able to leave. The trick is - reaching it."

The pilgrims erupt into overlapping babble that conveys outrage over there being another ship that they could have left on before Imam says, "Quiet. As I recall, the Doctor has done everything he could to make us retrieve his belongings before this point. It was Johns here that indicated the risk was too high. Clearly the situation has changed and we need to rethink our options."

"First off, what do we have for light?" The docking pilot lists of what she knows they have, "Flares, wielding torches, flashlights, the fiber optics, bulbs out of the headlights from the skiff that we might be able to salvage? Anything else?"

Paris offers, "Spirits. Anything over 45 proof burns quite well. But it won't work in the rain."

"How are we going to carry the generators for the fiber optics? My main concern is the weight," Simon puts in.

The Doctor scoffs, "Anyone have a sturdy bag or back pack."

"I do," says Jack. "You want it?"

The Time Lord smiles at the kid, "How about I make able to carry more on the inside that it looks able to on the outside, eh? So you can impress people with 'magic' later."

"Ok."

"I've got my healer's bag," Simon adds.

"I've been meaning to fix that. Hand it over, Simon, and I'll do that now."

Fry says, "Lets gather together all the light we have and see what it amounts to. Come on, Johns. Lets get your flares." The merc narrows his eyes at her but follows her off to the Hanger office to get his bag and gear because she's got a light and he needs to get his stuff anyhow.

They all scatter to raid the tool boxes for light-up tools, the toys salvaged for lighting parts, and the goods hauled back from the crash site for bulbs stripped from consoles. Imam begins looking for mirrored surfaces by which to reflect light, to make what they have seem like more. Paris searched for something to act as wicks for his makeshift lamps. River brought out the heavier clothes.

The light sources slowly pile up on the table, where the Doctor finishes his work on Simon's healer's bag and turns his attention to Jack's backpack. Johns' bags might be used also but not of Johns is carrying them. Those will wait until its known for sure that they are needed. His goal is to fit one of the fiber optic generators into the pack and then run lines from the child's back around to the rest of them.

River understands his goal already and sets up a sewing area where she can stitch the lines of glowing strands into sweaters, in an attempt to give them more protection. She starts with the leaders heading off to the skiff, once Carolyn and Johns return carrying the headlights from it.

Riddick drags one of the sanded planes of metal over and began slicing it into circles that can be tacked into cones. These will reflect any light that is set into them.

After everything is gathered they meet back at the table, Fry takes stock of the pile, "So we have ten lamps fueled by spirits. Six flairs, two cutting torches, ten hand lights, kilometers of fiber optics. Johns, you have a light on your shotgun. Paris has lighters. There are the tools that the Doctor thinks he can rig more bulbs too. Awright. So maybe we'll have enough light."

Johns swallows. Suddenly he realizes what it means now that the skiff won't work, "Well, I don't want to jump to conclusions here... but 'member that boneyard? These just might be the fuckers that killed every other living thing on this planet, okay?" he pauses and notes that everyone is looking at him, "If you are all in your right mind, I pray you all go insane, 'cuz going out there, light or no light is death."

"I agree Johns, I saw the cut-marks on the bones. Wasn't a natural die-off," Carolyn says. "But – we stick to the plan, yeah? Make it to the Coring Room, get down the shaft, and find our way to the Doctor's ship. We're off this rock."

Jack shivered but spoke sounding indignant and bewildered, "You mean --_tonight_? With all those things that killed Shazza and Zeke still out there? You want to give them a shot at more of our flesh?"

"Oh, sure. Why not? Sounds like a hoot," the art dealer replied. "After all, Johns only blew our single safe alternative."

The marshal glared, "Back it up. How long can this last? Few days? A week? Those suns gotta come back _sometime_. And if these animals really are phobic about light, we just sit tight till then."

Abu tried to make the redheaded man understand the real threat of the situation here, "I had the impression -- from the model -- that the two planets were moving as one. That there would be..." he sighs, "a lasting darkness."

"Thirteen point nine-four universal standard years, including 3 leap years," River says. "Dawn will come after five thousand and ninety-one days, two hours, and twenty-four minutes."

That takes the wind out of Fry's sails and cut's her retort to meaningless, "Nearly fourteen _years_?"

The dark headed girl nods and pulls out her notebook, "Based on the calculations and movements, with an allowance for negative gravity pull." She flips the book open so the others can see the equations and proofs she used to make her estimate. It makes for a persuasive argument.

The merc's eyes swing back to Jack and Ali, "Look, we gotta think about everyone now -- the kids especially. How scared are the boys gonna be out there?"

"Hey, I ain't chicken-shit scared!" Jack protests.

Carolyn places a hand on the youth's shoulder, "Don't use the boys for a smoke screen." Johns gives her a mock innocent questioning look, "You deal with your own fear, _Billy_."

His expression changes, becoming slyer, "Hey. Why don't you rag your hole for two seconds and let someone else come up with a plan that doesn't involve _mass suicide_?"

Fry meets his challenge with a raised eyebrow. Two seconds pass. "Like your last plan? No, _don't_ answer that. Never mind." She moved around until she was more in his face instead of across from him and looked at the chrono. "Two seconds. No? How much you weigh, Johns?"

The merc looks puzzled, "What the hell's it matter?"

"How much?"

"Around seventy-nine kilos," Johns says with a shrug.

She looks at the chrono again, "Two minutes? Got anything? No – you don't. Wanna know why? Because you're seventy-nine kilos of gutless white meat, and _that's_ why you can't come up with a better plan."

Suddenly there's a blur of movement at Johns goes for the docking pilot in the only way his brain can conceive of at that moment, with his shotgun. Several other blurs happen almost at the same time. The con steps in to block the gun, the Doctor whips out his sonic screwdriver and points it at the redhead, and Jack steps in front of Fry. Johns comes up short because his gun can't move past Riddick's chin. The merc goes from angered blue and green stares to looking at why his gun isn't moving, "Just where do you think you're going?"

Richard tilts his head against the barrel of the shotgun and gives the marshal a devilish half-grin. He then plays on the man's greed, looking him in the eye sans goggles, "Think about that reward, Johns."

"I'm willing to take a cut in pay."

One eyebrow quirks up, "Yeah? How 'bout a cut in your gut?" The blue eyes drop from the silver down to the tapping blade and the tight grip. The shiv is poised for evisceration, and Johns knows that even if he blows the ex-ranger's head clean off his guts will still end up all over the Hanger floor, because that's how good Riddick is. That alone isn't enough to make him back down, however. He narrows his eyes.

"Please...this solves nothing…" the holy man says.

The two opponents stare at each other a bit longer and then Johns remembers that the Doctor might have tripped the pins in the shotgun. It might backfire. He glares over at the Time Lord and lowers the weapon.

Riddick steps back, still ready to ghost the man if he threatens anyone again.

After a beat to make sure that the threat of violence is gone, Fry says. "Ok. We stick to the plan. The natives are afraid of our light. We don't have to be scared of them. Why don't we vote? All in favor raise their hand."

Carolyn, River, Simon, Jack, Ali, Suleiman, Richard, Hassan, and the Doctor all raise their hands. Abu looks at his pilgrims, lets out a breath, and adds his hand. "I'm going to regret this," says Paris before raising his too.

They all look at Johns. "Fuckin' insane, the lot of you. But I ain't staying here if you are taking all the light." They count that as a raised hand.

There is only one other difficulty, and Abu is the one that voices it, "And you're certain you can find the way there? Even in the dark?"

"No, I'm not. But _they_ can," the blonde says as she points to Riddick and the Doctor.


	26. Part TwentySix Motility

**A/N:**_ Thanks to cdallas who placed this in "Favorite Stories" and on Story Alert. Wow, you do me much honor. Rena9wolf has added this to the __**Squeee! Love! WIP**__ c2 listing. Whoot! Thank you. Everyone should check out the other stories there (after reading this of course). Also I want to thank My Reflection and ck16 for the reviews.  
Also there's a forum just for this Story! Look up __**TARDIS Parking**__ under my forum listings found on my profile and feel free to use the space for some of those odder notions. I might even post future plans there.  
_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Six

Motility

They took their time getting ready to leave, selecting spears, putting on glowing clothing, choosing lights to carry, preparing rations for the trip. Each of them figured out some way to rig a bag with gear, adding extra light to them, even if it meant poking holes and stringing LED bulbs.

Paris looked like a Christmas Tree. He'd added LED bulbs to his hat and his bag. The fiber optics sewn into his sweater hadn't been enough to reassure him, so he carried additional LED's strung around his breather. He was downright colorful.

Johns had almost gone the opposite way, nearly refusing the glowing top or the use of salvaged bulbs on his pack. But then he looked at the others and noticed that every one of them was using the fiber optics, even the Doctor, who had woven a loose vest to slip on over his leather coat. In the end, the merc put on the garish glowing outerwear.

The last of the overhead lights those around the eating area where they spent most of their time getting ready came down. The kid, Jack, needed to be in the middle of the group, as they were all connected to the pack he wore. Each of them had plenty of lead, coiled around arms, wrapped around bodies, or what have you. Riddick and the Doctor were up front, Ali and Jack were in the middle, and the rest of them formed a barrier around the children. Johns choose the back; Paris would likely end up falling behind and into a rear position although currently he was near the side.

"Let's stay together. We all have light, food, and water. It's not far, for our first goal. To the Coring Room," Carolyn rallied.

The inner doors were opened just enough to slip through. "How's it look?" Johns asked from the back.

Clear? Maybe. There were long rents in the main door and water pooling on the floor. Riddick put up a hand and scanned the darkness. "Looks clear," he murmured, unsure. He glanced over at the Time Lord. The Doctor put up a short burst of noise from his gadget and flushed out a small flock of razor winged hatchlings that swooped through the inner doors with an eerie clicking screech.

Behind him the entire group, sans Johns, ducked out of the way as the squealing mass swooped past them on it's way to roost in the rafters. Spears clattered away from them as Johns fired off the shotgun into the mass before dodging out of the way, "Fuck! Thought you said, 'clear'!"

"Said, 'Looks clear,' -- actually." Richard replied.

Fry cut in; "Can we just get the door open?" She paused to flip on the spotlight on wheels that had been constructed with the converter, a power cell and the skiff's headlights. Outside the hammerheads wailed in protest at the return of the hated fire as the light filtered through the slashed door.

The con hit the switch and the spring released the latch. Then he stepped up to the door and gave it a mighty shove sending it up into the overhead track. Outside the rain was coming down in sheets. "I hope the spotlight doesn't short out," says Paris.

"The connections are covered. It should be fine." Carolyn reassured, "Come on, we're just burning light here and the creatures are already behind us so there's no going back now."

Imam said, "Remember, stay together. Keep your lead short enough so that it does not tangle. Together we can survive this. God will see us through."

And with that they set off into the wet maze of the settlement heading for the coring room.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

River found herself between brown and white, Jack and Simon. Her mind was tightly muffled, thanks to both her brother and the Doctor. While she was aware of the creatures and the emotions of the others running strong she didn't experience them in such a way that they drove her. Greenish copper, Hassan, walked in front of her, rather pushing toward the more metallic earth, Rich. He seemed unafraid, excited and hyper alert perhaps, but not scared. Fear would serve him better.

Just behind her was ruddy bright orange, Paris, attempting to gain more safety by staying within the glow cast by others as if he had no light of his own. He had fear plenty. More than enough for everyone, not that it would do him any good if it turned into panic. The art dealer's lead ran through her and Simon. The Doctor had insisted that if something threatened the light, they were to do whatever was necessary to keep the others safe. She tried not to think about what that request might mean.

On the other side of the dirt brown was more emerald green, Ali. The boy is pissing scared; his colors pulsing and near neon bright. It's like he's trying to make his aura visible to the others in an effort to gain more protection. He won't panic though, not with his older brothers there to make him look the fool if he does. The jade green of Suleiman walks behind and to the outer edge, between the boys and the smoky bluish soot of the docking pilot. In front of Carolyn are the tropical sky tones of Imam, who walks next to Hassan, trying to get the boy to hold back. And behind them all is Red. The marshal makes her skin crawl, like her physical body wants to get away from him in layers that she cannot control totally.

The buildings here were skeletons, the siding being stripped away, posts and beams that reached into the inky, rainy sky. She could see them because the metal floors reflected the faint light differently than the wet mud they were splashing through as they walked, not quite in time with one another but very careful to maintain the spacing between them. Just on the edge of their mass glow the shadows moved, frothing in sheer numbers of predators that waited for any misstep. She'd put on long cargo style pants and a heavier sweater under the glowing one, but the rain and the chill made her shiver.

She felt a small hand grab her own. The green eyes belonging to Jack met hers as she glanced that way and smiled at the child. River curled her hand tighter around the smaller one as she tried to give the youth enough strength to keep going. They were both wet and chilled to the bone already.

The group passed this way and that, turning seemingly at random to go down muddy lanes that had been stripped of crates. After what might have been an hour or five minutes the buildings started to look more like buildings, and less like metal bones. Ahead of them Riddick held up a hand. There was a wall of sound, wails and clicks and bones smashing against each other up ahead of them. The pause lengthened before he motioned them into one of the more complete buildings.

In mass they pushed through the door, light filling the smallish room. "There's a massive monster fight going on in the lane ahead of us," Rich relays. "I don't think the Doctor's sonic thing-a-bob is going to do more than rile them up. We need another way through. Perhaps between building walls?"

"You mean cut a path?" Fry asks.

"Either that or make a mass run for it, in hope that we scatter them and that they don't attack us."

"Well, I vote for burn," Paris pipes up. "How many buildings away are we?"

The Doctor says, "Five."

That's twelve or so cuts, but better than making a long run and hoping that they don't slip in the mud, River thinks. Slowly everyone comes to the same conclusion. Fry hands over the torch from her bag. Riddick slips out of his fiber optic top and tucks it into Jack's pack. "Here's the plan, We'll cut a hole, I'll go through and scan ahead, then the Doctor will come through and give 'em a burst of noise. If the building is clear then you will come through. Guard each other's leads, and don't separate."

They trust his judgement, and his skill. Even Red, the dark-haired girl notices. The merc doesn't protest the plan and offers to do the cutting. He hands his gun to Fry, who hands the spotlight off to Imam.

The first cut opens into sheeting rain. Although the next wall is just fifteen centimeters past that, they are nearly overwhelmed by the increase in the howling eerie noise and fighting that they can hear echoing through the wet night. The metal removed from the wall is turned and bent before being hoisted up above head level and being allowed to spring back open, wedging itself into a cover that Johns can stand under to make the opening. He's bathed in bright illumination from the headlight lamp as he makes the next cut. As the merc steps back into the room to allow Riddick through, he slips off his own fiber optic top and hands it to Hassan with the request that it be tucked into Jack's pack. He then turns off the torch, switching the tool back for his gun. Fry motions to Imam to keep the spotlight for the time being.

Moving from one building to another happens after Riddick and the Doctor ensure that there is a measure of safety. The next space is long and narrow, with their entry being someplace near the middle. There are a series of doors along the far wall; perhaps this is the office for the bulk of the geologists? Pausing, the group studies the situation. They need to go across this building to get to their goal, but something is not completely safe here. The sound of rain pelting the metal roof drowns out most every other sound.

Off to the right there's a sudden metallic boom followed by quieter clatter. Nearly every light they have is turned that direction. A file cabinet has fallen, or was tipped over, papers and thin drawers making quite a mess on the far end of the floor. There's no sign of current movement however. Fry puts a hand on one knob and finds it locked, "Which way?"

"We should try to find an open door, save the torch for when we need it," Imam prompts.

They began checking doors and moving toward the downed cabinet. A clicking screech from _behind_ them freezes the survivors in their tracks. Almost as a single unit they whip their lights around the other way to find only more empty hall, but about halfway to the end of the building is a darkness that indicates an open door. They all look at each other each thinking the same thing, _How the fuck could one get in here?_

"Could've come in through a window? I dunno," says the docking pilot.

"Why don't you check it out, Johns?" Riddick suggests.

The snapping wail repeats itself. It becomes rather clear that the majority of the group agrees with the con. They expect _him_ to check it out.

Paris finally says, "Come on, Johns. You got the big gun."

The redhead counters, "I'd rather piss glass. Why don't _you_ fucking check?"

"He's right, you know," says Simon.

"Wanna rag your fat mouth?" Johns says as he turns on the Tam scion.

From inside the open room there's the sound of metallic furniture being toppled and more screeching.

"Might be the only open door," Riddick points out.

Johns clenches his jaw, takes a hit on his breather, turns away from his raven-haired target, and slowly crosses the distance to the darkened doorway. He flattens his back against the wall and thrusts his shotgun around the corner. The gun goes off. Something inside the room squeals but the popping-filled keening stops. Crouching low, the merc eases his head and light around the door and sees that there are blown-apart hatchlings on the floor, making a blue stain on the scattered papers from the toppled file cabinets.

He lets out a breath and points his gun up into the air. "Okay. We're okay. Just some small ones that musta -- " he starts to call back to the others. The thought is never finished, as something scythe-like makes a fast and powerful swipe at his head driving him back and down. The swing and Johns' surprise conspire to discharge his gun again. The blast illuminates something pale, with a huge tooth-filled mouth set under a bony ridge crest that gives the overall impression of a dagger-filled diamond. He half scampers and half crab-walks back to the group, "Find another door."

As it happened, Olgivie found himself near the outer portal. His first and only thought was to put distance between himself and the huge monster that was in front of them, "Not staying in here another..." as he lunges for the lever to open up the way outside, intent on fleeing into the rain filled darkness beyond.

Fry grabs his arm, spins him with his own momentum, and slams him into the wall, "Christ, you don't know what's out there!"

"But I do know what's in here!" he protests.

Meanwhile the Doctor has turned his sonic screwdriver to one of the inner doors and it clicks open. Riddick peeks in and gives a nod. The holy man says, "Everybody come, this way and we should be safe. Hurry, please..." Imam ushers them through into the smallish supply closet and once all twelve are inside he closes and relocks the door.

"Now we're trapped in a much smaller space. I hate this!" Paris nearly screams.

Fry and Johns switch torch for gun again. "Just hang on, Paris. We're still moving. Calm down," the blonde says. Johns struggles to get the cutter lit, and a scratching starts on the metal door before spreading to the surrounding wall. "Move the shelving!" Fry orders as she starts trying to block the door and wall. Rich, Simon, the Doctor, the older pilgrims, and Imam all begin helping her as Johns focuses on cutting the far wall. River tries to keep Jack and Ali out of the way while keeping the others from tangling up their leads. Paris cowers back with the two boys, perfectly content to hide behind the children. They can see the predator's scythe-like talons are poking and working around the door jam, like it's trying to make perforations in the metal so that the door will give way. The sudden driving, bonging, blow to the door is strong enough to make the shelving slide, with a loud metal on metal scraping, against the floor. "Johns! Hurry!" Fry throws her weight into pushing the shelving back to buy them more time. Hassan and Suleiman copy her. The others concentrate on adding more shelving to the pile.

One wall gives way to the torch, revealing the torrent falling in large fast drops. It's like walking into a waterfall almost, the volume of rain that is pouring down is so great. Johns takes a breath and prays that the water won't make the torch cut out before calling, "Spot me?" Paris blinks, darts over to the abandoned device, and aims the spotlight at the marshal's back. "Thanks," The redhead sets to work on the second wall. He kicks the hole open before he fully competes the cut. Johns then reaches back, grabs the spotlight and pushes it through. There are no noises to indicate that the creatures are in this building. "Come on, let's go!" The redhead wheels the spotlight along side himself as he rushes through what was a dorm. The marshal sets the cutter to work on the next wall before the others are even all the way into the new space.

River shepherds Jack and Ali with the art dealer right on her heels, through the downpour and into the next chamber. The others quickly follow as one of the shelves topples from the banging, and the claws begin ripping into the wall in earnest next to the door. Once again, the group muscles what ever they can find, in this case a missed dresser, over the gap in the wall. It won't hold for long. "Go, go!" Fry urges.

"Keep moving!"

The next three buildings pass in a rushed haze, Johns cutting constantly, the others trying to get enough of the gap blocked to buy time to get to the next room while keeping the children safe and in the middle of the group. It seemed, though; that no sooner than they would get one passage cut that the persistent hammerheads would get the gap behind them cleared.

But the next wall Johns opens leads to a large shelf filled room, with the shelves being 'V' shaped and containing long mineral core samples. "Hold!" Riddick calls, to keep Johns from rushing forward to the next wall. They have reached the Coring Room without being totally aware of it and are now in one of the storage rooms off of it. "Try to get that blocked up!" The spotlight doesn't illuminate this large chamber enough to ensure that they are alone here. With the roof being gone in the main room large predators might be roosting in the rafters. There are loads of small metal crates, weighed down with mineral samples, which can be stacked against the hole. The group begins hastily doing just that, while the Doctor directs the redhead to tack them in place by altering the heat of the torch and handing him a spool of solder. But Johns gives him a blank look prompting Abu to take the torch and welding material from them and start doing as the Time Lord suggests.

"You can't weld?" The Doctor asks William.

"I can," the redhead protests. Everyone from his world learned metal-craft, with mining being the main industry. He looked over and found those ancient eyes giving him a once over and finding him lacking, _God, he couldn't lie to this man_. He'd never had this problem before. Johns swallowed and looked at the floor, "Just – I failed the test on it, is all."

Those intense eyes finally look elsewhere, "So, you can't weld."

"Not that I trust, no," the merc admits.


	27. Part TwentySeven Wonderland

**A/N:**_ Thanks to everyone who reads this. I hope the story has been good so far. I've got no reviews for the last chapter, so I can't thank anyone in particular, but I do hope you all enjoy. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Seven

Wonderland

Riddick was scanning the tall shelves with their core samples, up high, looking for signs of life more than anything else. His eyes darted back and forth, the light he kept with him turned off so that it didn't interfere with his nightvision. Everything was a wash of pinks, purples, and navies, with the occasional white highlight. He could read the dates on the shelves and the scientific notations that indicated possible ages and depths of each sample, if he concentrated on it. But right now he needed to detect life signs, heat, movement, and if possible do it with enough advance warning to get his light turned on while remembering to not look at the bright pain it would cause.

As he walked, silent as can be, eyes scanning about up high, he failed to notice the carcass on the floor until he set foot in it with a _squish_. He paused, frozen, and waited, almost feeling the approaching creature across the upper shelf where it is slinking his direction. The ex-ranger lifts his head, to look into the 'face' of an adolescent predator. He dares not to breathe. The hammerhead squats atop the shelf, momentarily distracted by a hatchling body half draped over the edge of the upper surface. It began eating the carcass. A heavy bone-blade crowns its skull, and it's odd three fingered hands end in very sharp bony talons. It's a thin limbed beast, but powerfully built for one thing: Killing.

And as much as Richard B. Riddick knows about Killing, he knows that right now, moving would be inviting death. Last thing he wants is to become dinner.

There are sounds of confusion because he's taking so long. "Riddick?" comes Fry's voice through the darkness.

"Stay. By. The. Wall." He orders. He just hopes they listen.

The creature above him pauses in it's munching and makes a pass of noise that oddly reminds Richard of a curious mongoose after a snake. He maintains his frozen stance as if he's one of them, just bigger, tougher, meaner, with a different physical form. It's worked for him before, after all. It might work now.

Only it doesn't because of two factors. One is the arrival of Hassan, sans his glowing sweater, and the other is the second hammerhead that is peering down at them. The pilgrim is totally oblivious to the danger he's in, and Rich would tear him a new one if it were safe to do so. Instead he catches the lad with a vice like grip around the back of his neck and hisses, "Don't move."

The first predator was curious but not that bold. This second one however is quite forward with its investigation. Instead of going for the free meal ticket on the shelf it reaches down with it's talon-tipped hand and gently pokes, first at Riddick who gives no reaction, then as Hassan who is shivering in fear.

The touch of the bony dagger-like claw is enough for Hassan to empty is bladder. Riddick tightens his grip, "Just. Don't. Run."

The other hammerhead began copying its peer, making the encounter a battle of sheer will as razor sharp talons move over the two like surgical instruments, poking at first, then making experimental slicing motions. One cut forms a hole in Riddick's shirt, on the left side, just deep enough to sting but not enough to bleed freely.

Imam's voice hisses, "Someone is missing. Where is Hassan?" Then with rising panic, "Have you seen Hassan?"

"Imam? Calm down, you aren't helping here," Carolyn cautions. "No, don't wander away, too. Riddick? Do you have Hassan with you?"

The con wants to protect the boy, but he's seconds away from doing something very stupid. He calls back, "Yes." He tries to will the kid to stay still as another blade-like claw slices across his cheek, the only skin the boy has exposed. Hassan hisses in pain as the blood wells up along the deep cut. The constant clicking the two creatures had been making suddenly stop. It all happens so fast, one moment the boy is there, the next he's twisted away out of Richard's grip driven by blind flight responses coursing through his blood. "No!" He tries to catch the kid by his clothing, to drag him to the floor and misses.

The attempt puts him in a crouch as the first two hammerheads take off like blurs after Hassan's retreating form, but the ex-ranger freezes again as a third one of the same age group hones in on his location. A horrible scream pierces the darkness and sound of rain. He makes a choice. He can't wait for the other two to come back. He dives for the end of the shelving unit and sprints toward the others.

He can hear the sharp clawed beast following, down low, unable to get its wings fully spread. He's not thinking, at the moment, just reacting. Suddenly there's light in his eyes. _God the pain_! Riddick screams in spite of himself, diving for the floor. The bioraptor behind him echoes him with a howl and swerves up into the ceiling struts somehow managing to get air into its leathery wings enough to lift it away from the burning brightness. The shotgun goes off over his head. More than once. Riddick does not move. He can feel the cool of the Doctor step up besides Johns and put a hand over the man's trigger finger to keep him from firing off again.

"Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!" Carolyn screams at the marshal.

The blue-eyed-devil blinked at her, "'Sokay, 'sokay. I killed it." He's totally oblivious to the cool fingers over his and the incredulous stares that everyone but Riddick is giving him. But even the con jumps when the carcass of the predator that had been chasing him lands hard on the floor next to where he's flattened out. The sudden arrival sends him into a fast crouching twist that ends up with his back to the wall and his shiv out.

The carcass has landed point on in the headlight beam of the makeshift spot, and is smoldering, smoking, bursting into blisters, and charring as they watch. "Look' it!" Jack says pointing.

"Like the light is scalding it," Olgivie says in wonder.

Simon adds, "Interesting, severe photo-reaction. Light actually causes physical harm."

Fry forgets her anger at Johns as she stares at the decaying flesh, "It hurts them. Not just phobic."

On the other side of the room the other two adolescent hammerheads begin loudly fighting, likely over the remains of the pilgrim. Imam blinks rapidly, "Is that – Hassan?" The Doctor puts a hand on the holy man's shoulder as Riddick gets to his feet and nods.

"We'll burn a candle for him later. C'mon," says Johns, tugging the spotlight along to keep any others that might think of trying anything far, far away from them.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

They bypassed the main room for the safety of one of the still sealed lower ceiling storage rooms. The idea is to take a moment in safety to gather their wits, confirm that no one else is going to pull a stunt like the middle pilgrim pulled, and eat something, if they can. Jack is shaking, wet through to the bone. It's not fear, but cold that is the problem. Ali is slumped against Jack's shoulder, sobbing.

"We got the cable made up into a ladder, so there's a way down. O'course tyin' it off means we lose it. Same with the headlight. I can't see any way of using it to cover our climb down and still have it with us. And I don't know how to lower it down. We don't have enough cable to do both the ladder and the spotlight." Carolyn is pacing as she talks.

Abu watches her go back and forth for a moment, "Please, try to eat something."

She nods and accepts some dried fruit and freeze-dried nuts. A moment later she is handed a hot mug of something that smells like hot coca. The Doctor then makes cups for each of the others, although he prefers tea for himself and Riddick requests it instead of the coca. Ali sniffles a little and manages to blink his tears away because of the warm rich liquid. "I promise, Ali, that I will do everything I can to make sure as many people as possible survive this. But you must do as you are told." The boy nods at the Time Lord quite serious. "That's a boy. Go on, drink up before it gets cold."

"Thanks Doctor," Jack says and is happy for the beaming grin he gets back in return.

Johns is shaking too, but it has nothing to do with the cold. He swallows and moves over behind some furniture. He knows he won't make it without a hit. These folks are just going to have to live with that. It feels like he's stripping himself naked and jerking off in front of people, even though he's not. He decides to not think about it. He preps his needle with a capsule and then blinks at Simon who is kneeling down right next to him. "You are far too shaky to that safely. Let me clean the needle." He's not sure why but he lets the Tam boy take the hypo out of his hand and clean it. Then he watches, mesmerized, as the elegant hands expertly raise a vein and give him the shot. He closes his eyes. "Where do you normally shoot up, Mr. Johns?"

"Eye duct."

Simon makes a face at that, "I'm surprised you can still see. I've got several anti-morphine drugs in my bag that could be used to ease you off the addiction, providing we survive."

William frowns, "You offering to help me?"

"Yes. I'd like to take a look at your old injury. I'm a trauma surgeon not a spinal specialist, but highly trained and the top of my class. I might be able to remove the rest of the fragment."

"Why? Why you offering to help me?"

"I'm a doctor. That's what doctors do. I've only got one condition: keep your promise and let Riddick go free."

Johns blinked, "I'll let you know." Simon closes his bag and nods, moving away to let the man ride out his high. Once he settles Johns reloads his shotgun and puts one red shell in his chest harness.

Carolyn peeks around the edge of the stack he was hiding behind, "Ready, Johns?" She's holding his glow-vest-thing. He takes a deep breath and nods.

But once he gets close to her he says, "He'll lead you over the first drop off. You know that, don't you?"

She shakes her head; "We've been over this. He says he tried to save Hassan. He's not lied before. Just give it a rest, huh?"

"He's gonna pick y'all off one at a time, strand you into situations you can't get out of. And you're playing right into his game. Why don't you get that?"

Carolyn sighs, "We're just burnin' light here."

The marshal stares at her, "He _will_ leave you. He will leave you _all_ out there to die."

"I don't get it, Johns. What is so goddamn valuable in your life that you're worried about losing? Huh?" she leaned in and looked at him, "Is there anything at all that you care about besides dragging him back to slam? Anything that makes this worth surviving, besides your next hype?" Johns looks away but says nothing, "Got no right to be so scared. Neither one of us. We're both responsible for these people, one way or another. So you can decide to help us get off this rock and make up for the bad choices you've made, or you can die trying."

"Thought you'd be pissed with me, Fry."

She smiled, "Don't let the calm fool you, Johns. I am pissed with you, but survival comes first." She steps away, leaving him with the vest. The others are sounding like they are making to leave. He broods, grabs his fiber optic top and struggles into it and begins coiling up the lead. The others are waiting for him. He can see that the spotlight is hoisted up to light the way down and that the ladder is ready. Everyone is spaced out and prepared to do this.

"I'll go first," The Doctor announces. "I'll keep the sonic pulse going until we are all down."

Riddick was next in line, "I figure this way, Johns, you don't have to worry about me cutting the cable. I'll follow the Doctor. Remember we have to stay 3 steps apart, but no more than that or the light will go out."

"Ali, ready?" The boy nodded. "Jack? Paris?" They nodded too. "Keep the light going. That's all we have to do to live through this. Just keep your light burning," Carolyn finishes up.

The Doctor steps on to the ladder, "One, Two, Three," he calls as he goes down. Riddick steps on and the count continues, "Four, Five, Six." Ali starts his climb down and after three beats Imam joins them. Three beats later Jack gets on, and is followed by River after a count of three. Simon gets on after that, then Paris. The last three are Suleiman, Carolyn, and William to the count of thirty-three. They don't stop moving on the count until Johns is off the ladder.

In spite being down with thirty skeletons in a core-shaft, things are looking slightly brighter. They have made it this far and have only lost one person. And it is dry down here for the most part. They decide to use Paris's lamps for the moment, and to save the battery power on the hand lights. Only Riddick and the Doctor decline them, leaving Paris with one extra.

"Ok, the Doctor and I will take the lead again," Riddick says taking his fiber optic shirt back. The majority of the light is safely on the back of it, so he can see. "Keep less than ten paces, try to not stray too far out to the sides. We don't know what might be down here, or what the ground might do. If it looks wet don't step into it. Might suck you straight down. If you have any scrapes, let Doc. Tam here hit you with the Derma-heal. These bad-boys know our blood now."

Jack chews on his lower lip.

From Simon's healer's bag replacement spears make their appearance. "These all have rounded shafts and River made grips. They should work as walking sticks as well as weapons. Those of us on the outer edge should use one." He passes them out as he checks everyone over for cuts.

Carolyn walked up to Richard, "You know, someone should look out for Jack if we make it."

"Not me. Nobody's gonna turn a murderer loose. I fuckin' knew better." He looks over at Johns.

She frowns, "I told you, I made that deal, I intend --"

His silver eyes get a look in them that she's never seen on his face before, one that is soft and awestruck, "Been a long time since anyone's trusted me, Carolyn. That's somethin' right there."

She gives him a slight smile; "We can, can't we? Trust you?"

His face morphs into a humorous smirk, "Actually... That's what I been askin' myself." Rich walks back over to the Doctor leaving Fry wondering again who exactly the bad guy is here.

They take on the formation of a thin ten-legged, glowing spider with very large feet. Jack once again is in the middle. Imam walks in front of the children, with Ali on one side and River on the other. Suleiman and Simon walk behind them, flanking Jack. Carolyn and Paris follow them with Johns taking rear guard. The Doctor and Riddick are walking side by side, both very alert as they lead the others into the first passage, following the pull of the TARDIS key.

Their light manages to illuminate a totally alien cave-scape, filled with circular spouts of water from above, oddly formed chambers, worn into curved shapes by countless generations of bioraptors inhabiting them. There were weird sloping pillars, many of which ran miniature rivers from the rain above them, and tracks along the walls for the water to flow, occasionally the trickle would disappear only to start back up once they passed the next pillar or downspout.

The hammerheads are not in evidence, as of yet. Perhaps it is the light that drives them off, concentrated as it is by the yellowed walls. Perhaps it's the fact that the locals don't expect this tactic. But whatever the reason they have a clear route until they peek from a cave alongside the canyon and realize that something is causing the hammerheads to track them from above, following their progress like a pack of hyenas. Riddick pulls a large piece of bone into the opening to keep the creatures from coming in behind them and they backtracked slightly to take a route that diverges from the pull of the key.


	28. Part TwentyEight Submersion

**A/N:**_ Hi there, ck16, cassikat, My Reflection, and alphaskiier. Thank you for the reviews.  
Big question: Will everyone die like they did in the movie? Um… The Doctor is here. Oh right, that don't mean nothing, with the cloud of death that has been following 'em lately, does it? He saved Ali, gotta remember that. Some of them might make different choices, and thus the body count is going to change. And Johns… well – his survival depends on the decisions he makes, not the other way around. Simon's help is conditional, and Riddick's freedom is already assured, one way or another. And if you think the last chapter was interesting, I hope this one tops it. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Eight

Submersion

The new passage leads them further down; crossing under the canyon into a scene that is unreal.

Narrow tan walls give way to a series of caverns each more fantastic than the last. The first is coated with moistness that glistens with thousands of little lights, reflections of the pale blue glow and flames dancing all around them. This slowly widens into a gentle-slope downward filled with fantastic mineral formations and a rainbow of natural colors very unlike the yellowish color they'd become used to. They can hear a faint buzzing on the air that is different than anything else they have heard here. It's the next cavern that explains the sound and blows all the other vistas away.

There is life here; strange, glowing life with variety unlike anything they had imagined. The damp walls of the new chamber are crusted with glowing larvae in a profusion of shapes and sizes. The air glows from the winged insects that have retained the glowing properties. They hover over the edge of a huge black lake; the clear water beyond sparkling with evidence of day-glow colored crabs, shrimp, coral-like plants and animals and swimming insect larvae. Riddick stops and blinks. He turns his silver-eyed gaze on the man to his left. "Ever see anything like it before?"

The Doctor is just as awestruck as the others crowding around behind them are. He says nothing but makes a face that reads, '_how about that?_' before meeting Richard's eyes with his own and shaking his head.

Jack murmurs, "Wow."

The lake poses a problem. If they go this way how do they get across it? "Should we take a break here?" Imam asks. It's been a few hours since they stopped last, back at the coring room. No one wants to over tax him or herself.

"Let's, yes," Paris pipes up hopefully. "But we should be careful. The glowing things might bite."

Carolyn gives the art dealer a disbelieving look, then says, "Suppose you can never be too cautious."

Slowly the group enters the speckled glowing cavern. They fit right in, with their fiber optic blue day-glow spider look. Casting around for a half dry and clear spot, they wander into the left side of the 'beach' area and find a location that is rock, nice and solid, with no glowing things on the ground. The low stalagmites glisten with little specks of light, tiny glow-worms apparently consuming the minerals from the rock. It is as good a place as any.

Suleiman hands out food after they have all settled down. He'd been unusually quiet since his younger brother died. He was bursting with questions about why Hassan had been so eager to die, so ready to brave the unknown. But it didn't seem proper to ask, and he doubted that anyone would understand. What purpose did God have for them if their fate was to die here?

He didn't notice really when River sat next to him until she said, "He was determined, your brother. Wanted to be like the men, to face danger and be brave. Only when he sought it, he realized that he'd made a mistake. Too late. I'm sorry."

Meeting her brown eyes gave him totally different problems than he'd anticipated; leaving him tongue-tied and flustered. "Fault not yours," Suleiman managed to get out.

The smile he gets is sad but blinding all the same, "Nor yours. We all live or die here by our own discernment." He wonders about that, really. But again it is not proper to ask such questions, Suleiman knows. Besides he _likes_ this girl and -- _really he shouldn't be thinking such thing on Hajj_. "I still feel for your loss, Suleiman. If something happened to Simon -- "

"It won't," he interrupts putting his hand over hers. "Trust me, 'Ver. I won't let anything happen to your brother."

The touch makes her world explode in light and color; pinkish speckles and streamers seem to float before her eyes in a million different shades from near white to almost purplish. His heart lies in her hands, and she could crush it if she tried. It's a different caring than her brother's protective worry-filled love or the Doctor's guilt-ridden, duty bound compassion. She had no idea. And she doesn't know how to react to it, this budding feeling he has that could be so very, very good if she were a whole, normal girl. But she's not. Not even human anymore. There are things that were done to her that should have killed her but didn't. And she knows that this normal boy could never ever totally accept what she's becoming. She tears up and shakes her head, "Don't. Not for me." River extracts her hand and moves away from the Arabic boy, not quite fleeing from what she's seen, back to the Doctor's side.

Suleiman is not sure why, but the rejection hurts all the same. He vows, though, that he will do everything in his power to make sure River's brother lives, even if he must die for it to be so.

The Time Lord is slightly apart, studying the glowing larvae on the wall, some fairly large ones at that, with spectacular patterns of slight variances in light output, when River tucks herself into his side and buries her face. He automatically swings his arm out for her to work her body in closer and then rests the limb across her back. Her mind is a frightened jumble and some of what he senses in there is troublesome. He knows this buildup of energy from his memories with Susan. His hand lightly curls against her thin but incredibly strong arm and he gives her a slight squeeze. _I'm here_. His thoughts are on a plane that goes above the limits of language, where he's not even aware of switching back to his native tongue in his own mind.

Amazingly, it doesn't matter. She automatically bridges the gaps pulling on memories of the flowing concepts, the ancient language of their shared connection, deeply entwined in her very cells. _He is going to die_. The Arabic boy's face, his soul's imprint, and all the emotional baggage River has already attached to Suleiman swims into the Doctor's mind.

_No_. He makes his reply soothing, gentle.

River twists to look up at his face, searching for the truth.

_Someone will save him. Trust me_, Mei-Mei.

She burrows again into the void of him, seeking the peace only he can give her. The Doctor closes his eyes. He doesn't deserve this comfort she brings him after all he's done. But it's what she needs, and he owes it to her to provide it now because he's the only one who can.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Carolyn glances over at Simon; "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Huh?" the Tam scion looks at the docking pilot then over at the scene, "No. River needs someone to help her heal from what she's been through, captain. Her perceptions are no longer those of the rest of Humanity, because of the experiments performed on her. The Doctor isn't human, but he does seem to sense the universe the way my_ Mei-Mei_ does. He can explain things to her that I can't even begin to imagine."

Johns glances between them, "What'd you mean, _not human_?"

Simon replies, "His vital signs do not fit into the normal variance for the human species, Mr. Johns. He's not been shy about it. Although I still don't know if his physical state, the lack of body hair and skin pigmentation, is normal or caused by some defect."

"Haven't you noticed how cool his hands are, Johns? Even when it was hot, his hands were always cool," Fry adds. "Not that it matters one wit to me. He could be naturally purple with green spots and I wouldn't care."

At that point Riddick settled down across from the merc. "You all know he can hear every word, right?"

Carolyn raises an eyebrow. William gets a look of guilty relief, glad he didn't say worse. Simon nods, "I don't doubt it."

"So how are we going to cross the lake? Or are we going to try to find another route?"

Riddick smirks at them; "There's a thin ledge and a joining passage off to the right. I think it crosses under the bone yard. That's the way we need to go. Only problem is that we're going to have to go single file." No one sees that as much of a problem. The con hopes that none of them trip over their own feet.

The break is no more than thirty ticks long. None of them want to risk being caught. They figure out an arrangement that leaves Jack in the middle. Fry, Paris, and William are again at the back, with the art dealer closer to the marshal than before. "Feel like I'm being written off…" the older man mumbles.

"So you noticed too?" the redhead whispers back to him.

The man glances back as they shimmy their way along the narrow overhang that has quite a fall below it, as they can't tell how deep the water is, "I was under the impression you wanted to be back here."

"With my back exposed? Are you crazy?" Johns responds. "But there's no way that I'm going to walk up front with Sir-Shiv-a-Lot, either."

Paris feels his foot slip slightly, "Careful there's a slick spot here. And I agree, but why can't someone else wear the backpack? Why the kid?"

"It's his pack," Fry says. "That's the only reason why."

Finally the ledge widens out, as the wall gives way to a narrow crack-like opening. There's enough space to walk two abreast, barely. Simon and Suleiman come to a halt ahead of the three in the back. "What is it?" the Arabic youth asks.

"See something I don't like."

"What, Mr. Riddick?" says the holy man

"Um -- Looks like a nursery, filled with egg mounds. No adults visible, but lots of mucus," comes the con's deep voice from ahead of them.

"Is it the predators?" Carolyn asks.

Seconds later both the Doctor and Simon finishing consulting their respective scanners and answer, "Yes."

Jack says, "I don't want to come across as heartless, or mean, but can't we just set the entire works on fire? You know, burn 'em out. They must have other sites with eggs. Not to mention that they have lots of time to make more copies of themselves."

"Jack!" Imam rebuked.

"Hey, it's not like they are trying to _eat_ us or anything, right?"

Johns called, "I have to agree with the boy, if that counts. We've lost three of our own already. I didn't see another passage back there."

The Doctor can see both the holy man's response to and the validity of Jack's proposal. He sends a mental nudge to the TARDIS, _Did you know_? The reply is both simple and complex, the external scans of the tunnel system appearing in his head with the chamber ahead of him outlined in signs that life was detected here alongside the mauve danger tones. He snorts. "The entire works are flammable. One good spark will set it off. Our light might set it off. And about twenty-seven point one percent of the hatchlings are ready to break free from their leathery shells."

Behind them Paris pulls out the one non-used lamp. "Pass this up," he says. The lamp finds its way into River's hands and she stops to stare at it. _Is it evil to want to kill these things_? She feels the bottle slide upward in her hand as Rich takes it from her, bypassing Abu. She blinks at him.

"Should we vote, Carolyn?"

"Is it necessary? We don't have another route, do we?"

The Doctor says, "Past this there are a number of interconnected passages, plenty of ways to avoid nearly any issue. But this is the route we have to take to get there."

Iman sighs. "Don't delay because I have objections to killing so many at once. This is survival. We must do as necessary to live."

The deep gravely voice of the con advises, "Better to back up to the ledge and crouch, just in case." They follow his words, and he lights the bottle from Abu's half-empty one. Then he switches lamps with him and flings the more used one into the middle of the chamber. The flame ignites the air itself, like a fireball, and then sets the other obstructions in the chamber alight. The smell is horrible. Everyone comes out slightly toasted around the edges after the fumes finish burning off but none of them are seriously harmed. The blaze of light makes the creatures in the tunnels ahead screech in agony.

Before the flames had died down, there's an order, "Now, move. Come on. Keep Jack in the middle! Let's go!" It's the alien's voice, but none of them think to contest the leadership. They scramble into their formation and make a fast burst across the still burning chamber. There are several pulses of sound from the silver gadget that forced the 'babysitting' adults that had arrived to investigate into a tunnel before the survivors swerve away into a side passage.

The predators howl with anger now, tracking them even as Johns brought down the lead one with a shotgun blast. "Fuckin' christ! Keep moving! There's a gang of them back here," He called.

"Give me a pistol, Johns!" Fry says. He hands her one off his belt and she shoots seconds later, taking one of the hammerheads off its course toward the center of the group. Paris lets off a frightened squeak, spear and lamp both held to defend himself with. He feels Suleiman and Simon close ranks with him as the marshal and docking pilot usher them further down the wide tunnel. There's another burst of sound from above and behind them that causes their pursuers to freeze although they are clicking madly.

"Breathe, Mr. Olgivie," Dr. Tam hisses in his ear. "Come on, nice and deep," Paris follows the instruction only because of the assurance in the younger man's voice. "That's right. In --and-- Out." At the moment the only thing that the art dealer wants is more light, to hoard it, to never be in darkness again. The panic is nearly overwhelming but the gentle coaching to breathe, gives him a rhythm and space to think clearly.

He looks at the medical doctor; "Can we switch places? Can I walk in your spot for a bit?"

"If you want to, but behind Suleiman and I and before Carolyn and William gives you more light."

"Guns. I have a fear of guns," he whispers.

"Here then, walk behind Jack, huh?" Simon offers, "Suleiman and I will flank you both."

"Come on, Mr. Olgivie. I don't bite, much," Jack teased. "You could walk in front of me, with Imam, if you want."

Paris quickly moves up, River helping to guide his lead past the others so that it is not tangled. "Thank you," the art dealer says.

"Are we settled then?" The Doctor asks. He gets several nods. "Good, we'll need to make the next left, because the natives should be bursting out from our right in about five seconds."

While Johns wants to challenge that, as it heads them away from the direction they want to go, he barely has time to respond to Fry's tug to go left before a hammerhead lunges at him. His reaction is to blast it into blue sludge and to push the docking pilot further suggested direction, "Well, don't just stand there, go left!"

She snickers, "And here I thought you'd argue."

"Just shoot the damn things."

They make a fairly speedy dash down the passage, which is fairly wide and weaving, it ends up making a turn the direction the need to go before forking. The TARDIS key pulls the straight ahead, but Riddick says, "Go right!" He's spotting signs of life in the darkness ahead of them.

"What do you see Mr. Riddick?" Imam wants to know.

Richard would rather not say, actually. The passage straight ahead held a drop off and a huge chamber. Filled with hammer-headed natives, all fighting for some top-notch prize. The right tunnel skirts this mess.

Luckily the Doctor saves him from having to say right away what the problem is, "How are they tracking us? The sonic pulses I'm putting out should be disrupting their echo-location."

"Anyone cut?" Riddick tosses out. The entire mess of them scans over their exposed skin and all come up negative. "Might be me. Want to double-check my scratch, Simon?" Dr. Tam steps up and makes sure the fine paper-thin cut on Rich's shoulder is sealed under another coat of derma-heal. Then an additional thought occurs to the man, wondering now if there might be another reason for there to be blood flowing. He looks at the women, "Either of you bleedin' the other way?"

Carolyn meets his gaze; "Company places all females on quarterly birth control. My menstrual cycle won't start for another three weeks."

Simon narrows his eyes and scans his sister; "She is not currently, no. Don't look at her that way. Any of you."

The Time Lord adjusts his pulse frequency, "Let's move."

"So what did we avoid back there?"

_Damn_. "Hard to tell, sometimes -- even for me -- but looked like a bunch of those big boys chewin' each other's gonads off. Thought the right passage would swing wide." He looks at Paris who'd asked the second time, "Okay by you?"

The man gives him an owlish look then glances back toward the darkness behind them. Clicking screeches back that direction spurs the holy man to give the art dealer a nudge to move.

"Look, I don't know how much ammo we've got here, so we need to keep ahead of these things," Carolyn says as she backs toward the others, Johns at her side. "Get this train moving!"

The others respond by picking up the pace. At the next junction they get back to heading the direction they need to go to get to the TARDIS.


	29. Part TwentyNine Sanguine

**A/N:**_ I want to warn that there's hints of abuse against a child in this chapter, because it fits the child in question. If that bothers anyone, well -- damn it, it should bother you! Thanks to my readers and reviewers. It's been good so far, yeah? Enjoy this next chapter.  
Yes, My Reflection, Suleiman does have a crush. Cute ain't it?_  
_I'm thrilled that the story (and changes I've made to it) are still enjoyable, Basia Orci, even without prior knowledge about the original plot. Makes my day to hear - or err - read that.  
And ck16…Thanks, I think __**;-)**_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Twenty-Nine

Sanguine

They are all on high alert. How can they not be? Simon Tam has switched his hand lamp for his medical scanner, set to detect the local life-signs at maximum range. Or a bit beyond, thanks to the Doctor's fiddling. Something is allowing the bioraptors to track them. It's not their echo-location. The constant clicking and popping going on around them is even sweeps like the predators can't see the group but still know that they are there. And something is driving the hammerheads to attack like sharks on a blood trail. But what?

Rich's idea that it is a blood scent is a good one, but no injuries have been sustained and left untreated. Simon has made doubly sure of that. Both of the females in the party that might be menstruating are not. Is it Mr. Olgivie's expensive cologne? Is it the food rations? Have they overlooked something? "Incoming, from the left!" The Tam scion calls. Imam, Suleiman, and the Doctor face that way, pushing Ali more towards Jack. Fry picks off the lead with a well-placed shot. The Time Lord's sonic screwdriver lets off another jolt of sound and the creatures stop their charge and squeal in pain.

Without hesitation the Time Lord orders, "Go!" He gestures to the right, moving with them in such a way as to block the flank but not stress the fiber optic lead.

The all swerve to the right, dodge into a passage and follow a weaving path between short tunnels or long narrow pillars, ranks tight to protect the children in the center of the group. Something about the Jack and Ali is causing the hammerheads to brave the light again and again ignoring the intense pain and damage the illumination causes. The survivors make a left and then center out in their path toward the Doctor's ship. It seems like they might have shaken their determined followers for the moment.

"What did you do?" Riddick asks the Doctor as they jog. Now normally he'd ignore the strange twinges about someone's scent when in danger like this, but he's really very glad that the Doctor is next to him. He's not sure what he'd do if the man wasn't.

"Shattered the membranes in their olfactory glands. Took away their sense of smell."

Richard forces his mind away from the spicy sweet leather tinged odor and thinks about the behavior he's observed. "Goin' after the kids. Heading right for the center of the group every damn time."

The pale man next to Rich nods. He noticed that too, and for the most part the predators are targeting Jack. He sends the mental suggestion to Simon that perhaps the boy needs a medical scan when they stop next.

Abu and Paris are listening intently. Imam asks, "But why? We need to figure out why."

Riddick glances over his shoulder and says, "Oh… I'm starting to think I know why. Only, I'm not sure what to do about it." His eyes focus briefly back on Johns. Something tickles at his awareness about Olgivie, though. The man is intent on the words and seems overly concerned considering what he'd fought with Jack about before.

Behind them are the biggest, toughest bulls of the bioraptor lot. All they need to assure themselves a harem is some red blood. And they know it is there, in the same tunnels they inhabit when the fire is in the sky. It leads them like a sanguine ribbon wafting in the air. They ignore the harsh burn, the pain. Battle scars harden them to the fire. But something it fighting them back, leaving those in the lead scattered across the walls and floors of the passages. It's only a minor distraction.

They keep moving, scanning, anticipating another attack that doesn't come. Perhaps they have shaken off the group following them. One by one the bottles of alcohol burn out. They have been moving through the bioraptor tunnels for over half a day now. Switching back to hand lights as needed, they keep making their way through, slowly climbing now, following the path of the hills. Jack stumbles and Suleiman catches him. A wordless thanks is passed.

"We need to stop again. We should rest," Simon calls out, noticing that Ali is in about the same shape as Jack. They are in a fairly narrow, low passage now, in the bend of a turn. They decide to stop there, so that they can put the boys against the wall and protect them from two sides.

Jack sinks down to the floor gratefully. Ali settles next to his friend and stifles a yawn, "Feels like it's been days. Don't think I'll ever want to stay up past my bedtime again." Jack murmurs an agreement and shifts to get more comfortable. Off to the 'back' of the group Johns and Fry are reloading weapons and counting ammo. Over at the 'front' Simon and the Doctor are huddled with Richard and playing with the medical scanner. Jack has to fight the urge to wiggle in discomfort as those silver eyes glance at he and Ali. "You Okay, Jack?" the Arabic boy asks.

"No. I'm not. We got monsters with razor sharp teeth trying to _eat_ us, Ali. I'm definitely not 'OK'. I'm scared shitless. And I don't want to hurt you, but Hassan is dead. How many more of us will die before this is over?"

Ali claps a hand onto Jack's shoulder. "God will protect us. You just need faith in that."

"He sure as shit didn't protect Hassan, did He?" Jack snaps. Then seeing the pain on the other boy's face, "I'm sorry. I don't mean that. I'm sure God had plans for your brother and that was meant to be his place to go, if it makes it any easier for you, Ali. I'm just – tired. And my feet hurt."

At this point Dr. Tam settles down in front of the two children, "Ali, would you please go over to Imam and Suleiman? I believe they are praying, and you should be as well." The child nods and moves. Jack starts to get up as well, but Simon stops the youth, "Jack. I need to scan you."

"No! There ain't no reason. Leave me alone."

The Tam scion catches the child before he can flee. "Jack! Listen here, if you are injured someplace that is not visible I need to treat it. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm fine. Nothing's wrong."

Simon gives Jack a look; "If that is so then I won't find anything, will I?" Jack slumps back to the floor and pouts. Slowly the medical scanner makes it's way over the child, with the ebony-haired man getting a deeper frown as he tabulates the information that he is getting. "Alright, Jack. I can fix this." He reaches out to touch the child's chin and lift his face. Jack is silently crying. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Who'd believe me?" the boy sobs out. Jack finds himself surrounded by warm arms in a hug that is all comfort.

"I do," Simon whispers into the child's ear. "Come on, I've got a shot that will solve this problem." He wants to know who did this to the boy so he can do similar to them; he's so angered. But Jack doesn't need the cold fury so Simon pushes it aside. He's grateful to the Doctor insisting that they take a sheet with them, as he uses it and some spears to make a screen to give them some privacy. "I'll need to get a look at how bad it is, Jack."

Shaking now, Jack struggled out of the backpack and lifted his layered shirts to reveal old burns, like someone took a cigar and put it out against his skin. Simon keeps his face neutral even though the boy is not looking at him. None of the marks are new enough to be the cause of the blood trail. Keeping his eyes on the floor Jack drops his pants to let Simon see the cause of the fresh injury. "It was my fault. Don't go blamin' anyone."

"Where?"

"Bathrooms. I shouldn't have invited it. It -- "

Dr. Tam placed a light hand on the boy's thin back, "Never. Jack this is never your fault. If I ask you 'who' will you tell me?" At the same time he pulls an antiseptic wipe and begins cleaning the area around the wound and carefully checking how bad it is. Jack shakes his head and doesn't even flinch as he automatically moves to make it more accessible.

"Back home that would've been getting off easy. Not the first time, you know? I didn't think much of it. It happened and I didn't get burned, so…"

Simon is silent as he works, and Jack only hisses slightly when the topical medicine is applied. The shot doesn't even garner a reaction. Once the actual weeping of blood stops he quietly asks, "Are you positive that this has not happened to anyone else? Like Ali, for example?"

Jack twists to look at him with scared green eyes. "Please, no. He promised." Then with a resigned slump, "I – don't know."

He provides the boy with clean underclothes and helps him dress. But Simon can't just leave the boy without trying at least once asking, "Who did this, Jack."

The green-eyed boy shakes his head and starts to sob.

Simon emerges from the screen to find that the adults are all focused on one tunnel or another, and that River, Suleiman, and Ali are watching the white sheet with worry at the quiet sobs still coming out from behind it. He glares at a few backs, only one of which actually deserves it, trying to get his anger back under control. Jack refused to say who had done the deed, breaking into tears instead. Riddick is watching, out of the corner of his eye. Simon glowers at the ex-ranger too, only to his face.

Rich walks over, "Well?"

"It was Jack they were following." He holds up a sealed pouch with the child's underclothes. "And if I find out who did this to the boy they are going to be in a world of trouble."

"So, Jack's _not_ a girl?" Riddick seems puzzled. He was sure that Jack's cover concealed the fact that there was a girl under the bravado.

The smaller dark-haired man's jaw clenches. The con takes half a step back, surprised by the raw anger there. "Jack is male. As male as you or I. Can you swear you never _touched_ the boy?"

There's an undercurrent in the words that makes the bronze skinned man shiver. Someone's been hurting Jack and the kid just sucked up and kept quiet. No wonder he'd settled down and started being all silent and respectful like. But who? He knows his suspects, but he isn't sure it's a wise idea to just blurt them out. He's never seen the Doc so pissed off. It's like the shadow of fury he's felt in the alien, like given time it could be just as powerful. "I never laid a finger on him to hurt him, Simon. I don't swing to the young. But --" He glances over at the merc, "There are others who might."

"If you are lying to me I'll castrate you."

"If I'm lying, I'll castrate myself. With a dull, rusty pin." Richard is trembling now, from the wash of rage that ignites his own. If Johns did this he'll strangle the blue-eye devil with his own intestines. "Can I see him? Think he'll want someone there?"

"Yes. Try to move him, I need to scan Ali." The professional detachment is back in place, making Simon seem mild mannered and the perfectly soothing medical professional.

Richard clenches his fist and rocks on the balls of his feet before nodding. Someone is going to pay. He takes a deep breath and steps behind the makeshift screen "Why, Jack? Why didn't you say anything?"

The boy doesn't react until he feels the large warm hand on his shoulder that he knows is safe. Then he throws himself at the big muscled man and cries harder. The same question is rattling around in his own brain. He doesn't know why, but he can't, not yet.

The ex-ranger enfolds the thin child in his arms and carries him out from behind the screen. He can't take the boy over to the Doctor, because River is moving over there. He doesn't trust Paris or Johns. The only one he does trust is Imam. Telling the holy man that one of his charges might have been abused isn't going to be fun. He sure hope Ali comes back unharmed.

River slinks back to the Doctor, working her way under his leather jacket. She needs to hide in the face of the rage her brother is radiating like sharp spikes of bright sunlight and the golden mini-fireworks of fury and worry from Rich that are like the sparks from metal as it is being forged. Jack's brown is so dark it's almost black. The contrast hurts. The Time Lord pulls her in, trying to protect both Simon and River at the same time and from each other. She whimpers. He strokes her hair.

Carolyn moves away from Johns and over to Jack and Riddick while Simon escorts Ali off behind the screen, meeting them as they reach Abu. "Rich? Jack?" She puts a hand on the boy's head, gently soothing her fingers through his honey brown hair. "What did Simon find?" She addresses her question to the goggled man.

Imam feels sick to his stomach. Just looking at the way Jack clings to Mr. Riddick is enough for him to make some guesses as to what has happened, but that means someone in this group is capable of great cruelty. "Let us wait until we know if Ali has also fallen prey to events."

Rich looks at Fry, "Enough to threaten to castrate whoever did this."

Imam pales even further, hoping beyond hope that nothing has happened to Ali. He'd assumed that they were safe in the Hanger that the threat was all from without. Now it appeared that someone inside the group was as much of a predator as the natives here. If he were not on Hajj he'd kill the person responsible.

Carolyn looks at the holy man, "Imam? Are you OK?"

"No. Captain," he bites out.

She looks at Riddick, "Well, you were right about the ripping apart thing. But we don't have evidence of guilt, do we?"

"Never needed it in _my_ case, why do we need it now?" The con rumbles. She winces. Jack clings harder as if he fears being put down. Fry places a light hand on the kid's back and rubs little circles. Between the two they manage to get Jack to calm slightly.

Ali and Simon walk back out from behind the screen a few moments later. The boy looks surprised that something might have upset his friend so badly, but he has no idea what it could be.

"He's fine, Imam. Sorry about the alarm," Dr. Tam says. "I just feel better having checked, is all." The holy man nods and gathers Ali into his arms, hugging the boy tightly. "Jack, we're going to have to keep moving." Jack slowly untangles from Riddick, gaining his feet as the large man puts him down. "We will protect you, Jack. It would help to know who to protect you from, but none the less we will protect you." Simon hands the boy back his pack then heads over to repack the screen.

In that touch of Jack's hand with his own he sees a flash of orange, deep and coppery. But he can't tell if it's an aura or something physical he seeing. He knows though that the cause of that orange is the cause of the boy's distress. Simon pauses as he folds the sheet and he looks around. Olgivie has that color of orange in his shirt. But Johns has hair that shade. And he can't see auras. He could describe the color to River he supposed, but his sister was distraught enough as it is. His eyes meet the blue ones so like his own, and he feels the connection between them simmering, _I'm going to do the most horrific things I can to the person that has hurt Jack_, he thinks.

There's a ripple of dark amusement, _If Richard doesn't beat you to it_, comes the flow of thoughts behind it.

He thinks that is very true, _As long as I can watch, I won't mind much. Think of how inventive Rich must be at that sort of thing_.

_You are scaring River_.

He glances up at the Doctor and his sister and notices that he can only see the back of her head and her legs from inside the Time Lord's jacket. _Sorry_, Mei-Mei.

_Comprehendible, considering the circumstances, that you would apperceive vehemence_. Her face lifts up from the black shirt she was huddled against, and she looks at him with large dark eyes.

Big words meant she was hiding from him. He sucked his emotions back in, sending to her a wave of regret. She responded by sending back warmth and love, but remained mentally hidden, the whisper of her mind only a faint muffled buzz._ I'd feel the same if it were you._

_I know._ He gets a slight smile now. But there's something in her eyes that is dark, similar to what he can see in the Doctor's eyes. Like she's becoming something else._ I know because you _do_ feel that way about what was done to me_.


	30. Part Thirty Break

**A/N:**_ Oh, Haha, alright. I get it, ck16. I'm glad you liked the descriptions. Same to cassikat. The cavern bit is shorter than I had initially wanted but describes what I envision in my mind so I suppose it works out.  
My Reflection, there are actually three possibilities, all based on the words "copper" and "orange" but only one of the suspects has the color in both aura and physical senses (and one has already died). As for his fate… well, someone will get even (I'll try to surprise you). And the rest of them will let it happen.  
Now, I know I've been asked if Jack was a girl or a boy. I thought and thought about that and came up with another 'what if' question. What if Jack's secret wasn't that he was a girl, and if not, what would make him not tell that he's injured? The last chapter was the result. I kept the abuse vague, so you can make your own conclusions about exactly what was done. Now, can you figure out who did it? And why won't Jack tell?  
Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Thirty

Break

Jack felt good, physically. He didn't ache like he had before Dr. Tam's interference. He couldn't see shit, because his eyes were unable to stop weeping tears but at least the majority of the pain in his body was gone. That was a good trade, right? Not too sure about the needing to cling to someone bit, but at least his body was doing fine. And thankfully Dr. Tam was behind him and not someone else.

He'd not said a thing for over sixty ticks. But then, neither had Ali, who was walking next to him, leading him, acting as his eyes. The green-eyed boy knew he'd upset people by his refusal to say who was the other person involved. At the time Jack considered the entire episode his fault. Still did really. He'd walked into the situation, made it worse with his big mouth and snotty words and it had been well within the other man's rights to set him on the straight and narrow. Or so Jack believed. He was lucky actually that it hadn't been more violent. Back home it would have been. He kept expecting it to escalate. That it hadn't had been kinda nice. At least the pain hadn't gotten worse.

Eyesight blurry even after the tears stopped, Jack trusted Ali to guide him and paid little attention to where they were going or how far they'd gone. And his mind was sluggish, taking its own sweet time to move from one thought to another. As long as he didn't look away from Imam's fuzzy back or think about things too much he was okay to walk, at least. Not that his mind could leave it alone. He wasn't sure how he felt about what he'd been through, but he knew the other adults were angry about it for him. They wanted to know who had done it. Well, they could just ask each other if they were so blind as to not have seen …

Now, it just seemed pointless to call someone on something he earned, deserved, and maybe even wanted. Oh sure, he'd run away from home because of similar, but damn… That annoying _tickle_ was back. After a while there was little Jack wouldn't do to make the feeling go away. He'd rather feel the pain. It would be even better to not feel anything in that region of his body until he was older, but he'd never been given the chance to be normal in that regard. That's why he'd run away.

He wished he could tell someone, but the adults wouldn't understand. They would either take advantage of him or look at him in horror and anger. And telling Ali or his brother was out of the question. They would look at him like he was scum. No way he'd survive that experience. Losing his own dignity was one thing, losing his friends was another. He wouldn't even dream of dragging Ali into this. And Dr. Tam's fears had nearly done it for him. If _he_ had touched Ali, Jack would rip the man's offending parts off. And the driving force wouldn't just be anger.

Maybe the things he'd read in Ali's holy book were the way to salvation, maybe it could get better. Jack sure hoped so. Shazza and Zeke had offered him a new life, a way to become something more, but they were both dead now. If he followed his current path, the one with Ali, he'd have to try to become normal. Live a normal life, act like other boys, never mention what he'd lived with and craved. Or he could try to strike out on his own, following Riddick's path. Go for the eyeshine; use what he was to get what he wanted. But then, that would hurt Ali so -- maybe not.

He liked Ali and Suleiman. He'd liked Hassan. They were good people, not as prissy as the Imam was, but still. He liked Fry, and the Doctor, and the Tam siblings, too. Hell, he worshipped the ground Riddick walked on. He knew there were issues between the adults, but for the most part they had tried to protect him. Even _him_. Funny that, if nothing had happened before they skipped out of the hanger then this walk might have been much safer.

Jack could smell moisture in the air faintly, like they had reached the upper caverns. It was much colder here then it had been when they were deeper down. Jack shivered and had to force himself to not huddle next to the other boy's side. He felt Ali shiver too, "Cold now."

The rain was freezing on contact, forming odd pillars of ice where the spires had been. He wondered what the natives did now, if the forming ice would drive them back underground. Jack sure hoped not. He had enough to deal with at the moment. They'd been walking for such a long time; he was so sleepy and cold.

Then they hit a dead end.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The TARDIS was really very close. In universal terms it hadn't been that far away in any case. If it weren't for the freezing rain, they'd just continue this trek above ground. Oh, but he could practically see the blue box through the sheet of ice. The problem was, there were bioraptors taking shelter inside the sinkhole from the onslaught nature was throwing at them. And there was a fifty-foot drop in front of them on the other side of that ice. He might make that jump. But could he make the dash beyond with no light?

The Time Lord reached out to his ship and tried again to call her to him. The rejection made him growl softly. Fate's line wasn't fully played out yet. They would have to backtrack and circle the sinkhole looking for a safer way to reach the TARDIS.

They rested, having reached the basic location faster than they had hoped to, while the Doctor considered what to do. The estimate had included longer rest periods then they had felt safe enough to take. Now however Imam used the spears to direct the freezing rain into the location where he wanted it to make a wall of sorts that would by them some time if the natives caught up to them.

The Doctor felt the animal energy of Richard hovering behind him, and closed his eyes. Leela never got to him like this. Not that he'd been unaware of the potential in her, no. He'd known and seen that she could be powerful and wise given time. He'd watched her step in and take her husband's place to protect the Lady President even though her sight had failed. Leela had never faltered. And he'd loved her, but not the way she loved Andred.

But he was gathering that there was something about the ex-ranger, something he could feel right on the edge of his awareness, that was so like Leela yet different. The bronze skinned man sparked something in him that he'd only felt with one other. That had been a very long time ago, back in his second incarnation. Jamie. James McCrimmon. The emotion solidified into pained heat that was nearly solid nestled against his right heart. Morbidly, he poked at the sensation like a child finding a starfish for the first time. Of all the memories – he had to have this one drifting through his brain right now. But there was no denying it. Beyond the emotional grief of the loss that he would never get over was the renewed filaments of his soul trying to find someone to mend that awful wound.

Richard, _Amadak_, was destined to travel with him, just as Jamie had been. Why was the universe trying to offer him these precious things? He'd just crush them, like everything else. But there it was, that spark of – well, the only word he had for it meant about a book's worth of words and had no real translation. _Damn_. By rights this rare fragile thing should shatter as soon as his touch became more certain. He drew back the tendrils of his mind away from the shimmering silver bundle of energy that hovered between he and the ex-ranger. Odd that. The beginnings of a connection that was forming almost as if to spite him.

It was not helping him get to the TARDIS, this distraction.

"He is your earth," says the little water who rarely leaves him. River. He's become so used to her wild flow, like rapids, that he barely notices that they are not is own. He ponders those words without replying. It doesn't bother the dark haired girl. She knows he understands. It vexes him to no end. He doesn't think he needs the grounding. But it's too late to deny the spark. The lead of energy arcing between them, the ex-ranger and Time Lord. And River knows something else too, she could become part of him, the storm, let him absorb her and heal her and she'd be reborn, forever connected and feeding it. She could be his water. By the Black, how she wants that. To be whole, healed, and still have this wondrous connection.

But could she force Simon into it? Would her air understand? Could he give himself to becoming something more than a boy, more than human? She glanced over to her brother who was with the children, between them with the sheet and space blanket over them in an effort to keep the boys warm so that they can rest. The divide between her and Simon is larger now, strained. She doesn't want it to be, but he's not ready yet to see the new possibilities. Her arm curls over the Doctor's knee where they are sitting. She lets the ache of loneliness that is not her own wash over her. Then her eyes find Richard's. Those silver orbs dance with a multitude of emotions, many of them dark. But there is one that she can read like it's printed in glowing billboard letters. He's jealous of her easy physical contact with someone he wants badly. And for the first time she can see the shimmering connections of amber-green uniting them in shared destiny. She glances away, curling tighter against the cool body next to hers, blushing because such a thing is intimate beyond anything else and so very fragile that the slightest wrong move could shatter it.

Riddick wonders what the hell _that_ look was about. Sometimes River _sees_ things. He knows this; he's caught her saying stuff in riddles that proves truthful later. Now she's picked up something about him. He narrows his eyes and watches the faint rosy rise of heat on her skin as she tries to hide from him. Now he's really curious. What could she have seen that would embarrass her? He looks from the pink tinged back of her head to the deep blue of the cool fingers that come up to rest on it. There's a rise of ire that shouldn't be there. And feeling it, knowing why, makes it rise higher. He's going to end up back in Slam and he doesn't need this emotional crap. Why now? And why _him_? He suddenly realizes that his eyes are locked with the deep, ancient ones of the Doctor. The questions he has are reflected back at him. Twitches move across his shoulders.

"Spendin' an awful lota time staring at the bloke," Johns says sounding calculating. "What's up Trash-Baby?"

"Thinking about what a killer like him would do if he caught a child molester, Billy," it wasn't the truth, actually a spur-of-the-moment lie, but Johns don't know that. It seems to hit a mark, but not just on the merc. He focuses a bit of his attention on the art dealer.

"What, Mister-no-weapons-thank-you? A killer? Are you trying to jerk me off?"

"No."_Actually I'm deadly serious_. "Is it working for you?" The marshal gives him an incredulous look. "_Look_ at him, Johns. Really try to see what is in front of you. He's attacked the natives with as much stone-cold efficiency as you have." The Doctor looks away, seemingly involved in a conversation, with perhaps River or Simon, on a level beyond speech. "Maybe 'killer' ain't the right word." Riddick finally looks at the redhead. "He's a – destroyer. And if he finds out who hurt Jack he'll destroy them totally."

William looked at the con, blue eyes locked on silver, "You think I'm that stupid?"

"I pray you haven't been, Billy. He might show mercy if the guilty party confesses before he catches them. But he don't give second chances."

The merc closes his eyes. "I don't remember doing anything. But – the morphine – I don't know." The man is trembling, terrified. It's not Riddick that Johns is scared of. It's his own self, what he might have done, and being caught out having done it but not remembering. He's been thinking 'bout the doc's offer to clean him out and try to actually fix the damage to his back. He's been a bastard, true. He's a greedy man. But he could let Richard go, for the chance to be clean again. It's something he wants more than money. But if he were the one to have hurt the kid, all bets would be off.

But Riddick is listening to Johns' body language. Actually, the man is ruthless, he's shot kids to flush out a target, but he's never raped or abused them. The sadistic part of the con wants to watch the merc twist in the wind for a bit, but what's changing in the man is so new and so delicate that it might shatter. "It wasn't you."

Johns hears the words but can't quite believe them, "What?"

"It was _not_ you, Johns. Have you started going deaf?" The redhead's look is comical, but Rich doesn't laugh, "All the signs are there, pointing straight to the person responsible. Have been from the start. They don't point to you."

"Then – who?"

Riddick's eyes dart over to the person next in line to die. He lifts his chin, "Him."

The merc's eyes follow the gaze and he narrows them as he considers, "Proof?"

"Think about how Jack's been acting and what has changed."

Johns thinks about it. Back at the settlement, before they got trapped into the Hanger, Jack had been a thorn in his side, a smart-ass pest that he wanted to turn over his knee. But once the sandstorm started the kid had become quiet. He'd gone from challenging everyone over everything to accepting what he was told. And there had been little – touches – at mealtimes, before settling in to sleep, while playing with Ali. Johns hadn't thought about it while he watched over the events transpiring around him at the time. "Think the Doctor will want to use my shotgun?"

That coaxes a thin, evil, smile from the con that chills Johns to the core. "Rather think he's a gadget man, myself. Wonder how many things one can burst with that sonic device of his."

The merc shivers. Personally, he'd rather _not_ think about that. "I'm gonna take Dr. Tam up on his offer, Richard. Get off the morphine, get the metal out of my spine, let you go. I should have listened to Hoxie and walked away."

"_Right_," Riddick said stressing the 'ii' in the middle and sounding disbelieving. But Johns is telling the truth. Working alongside Fry to protect the others, knowing that they were fighting for their lives and that it was his fault, changed him. Besides he was getting his life back. He let go of Riddick, said he died and he'd still have a perfect record. He could go back to doing what he loved to do knowing that they'd stay put once he got them there. Slowly it dawns on Rich that the man is being honest and open for a change, "Wait – you mean it?"

"Yeah." He glanced over at Dr. Tam, "The Doc gave me a hit of something, some anti-not-morphine new drug when we stopped, asked me if I wanted my stuff or his. I can't go on. Fry was right; I've been livin' for the hype, not because I'm alive. So I took his. My mind is a lot clearer, first time it's been in a long while. And I realized, you warned me about Hoxie before we even got there. Not because you wanted a chance to run, but because you knew I was being stupid." He scruffs his shoe into the dirt. "You saved my fuckin' worthless life when we ran into Revas. You're still savin' it. And I was so blind from the dope that I truly thought – no, I wanted to hurt you. Nothing else. Didn't matter if you were in Slam or not, just as long as I could cause you pain." Riddick didn't say anything. William took a deep breath, "Go with the Doctor, where-ever he disappears off to, and I won't bother you no more, Richard." Actually Johns is pretty sure that with this situation being his fault that the devil is about to collect his due. As much as he wants to live, if he can save someone else that deserves it, like Simon Tam, he will no matter what the cost.

Richard looked away, only to catch Fry's smile. Truth was, the experience had changed him too. He could feel the odd tug that kept him gravitating towards the Doctor like he was on some invisible lead. He knew that these people, for the first time in a long time, made him care. Fry treated him like he was something precious, rare. Simon acted like he was normal. Imam saw he was a person, not an animal to be locked away. Jack needed him. And the Doctor… well that was up in the air still. Drawn like a moth to a flame, two worlds caught in mutual orbit. He didn't know why, or how, but these people changed him. And he was still changing. "Gotta live through this first, then we'll see."


	31. Part ThirtyOne Arrears

**A/N:**_ Thank you to all my readers, reviewers ck16 and My Reflection, and harryetty who has added this to __**Harryetty's Favs**__ c2.  
Everyone in Pitch Black had secrets. What was Paris's secret? His alcohol stash? I think not – lets give the man a real secret shall we? Besides he was meant to die anyhow. And Johns? Is he really changing or is he blowin' smoke? Which would you all prefer? It's still up in the air but someone is going to make a hard choice so others can live before this is over.  
This chapter wrote itself rather quickly, but the images that it was inspired by are not cuddly ones. For the longest time all I could see was the color of bright copper in association with the individual that dies here (Yep, someone does die, and you should have seen it coming). Originally it was gonna be Johns, but the man isn't totally without good qualities (Meaning he'd kill the kid but he wouldn't make a mess out of one first). Honestly it wasn't until I wrote the chapter before this that this one snapped into place. Remember, this is why you don't want to piss the Doctor off ('specially this regeneration). Talk about closing up the drawstrings on an open bag…_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Thirty-One

Arrears

He'd been very careful to not act guilty, to not act scared… But he could feel that the others were catching on to what had happened, and truthfully he'd only wanted to make sure the boy would pay attention and not go doing something stupid. That there'd been blood involved hadn't occurred to him as a problem at the time. He was having difficulty not reaching out to calm the boy. Or more precisely, strangle him for casting suspicion his direction.

They had started moving again. Something about the individuals in the front had made him want to be in the back. Jack had offered to let Ali carry the backpack, and the other boy had agreed. So now, Jack wore Hassan's old glowing sweater and was walking next to Imam by River. Almost like the shit was avoiding him.

Suleiman and Simon both seemed calm enough, with the doctor paying far more attention to his scanner, tuned to show the life-signs of the natives, than was totally necessary. Carolyn and William were strung tight, carrying guns, which he disliked but had a feeling that were less threatening to him personally then the knives of those in the front of the group. When he'd approached Riddick and the Doctor he'd gotten one of those icy sensations that left no doubt as to the trouble he'd be in if he stayed too close to them. Riddick had figured it out. The Doctor might have already known.

And then he'd looked at River. That had been a mistake. The expression on her face had morphed into one like judgement being served upon his soul, like she'd reached in and read his memories and found the truth of everything he'd ever done. But he had planned on adopting the boy, raising him as his own if they survived. He could provide him with an education and -- But who was he kidding? The child had never liked him, something that wouldn't change no matter how he was treated. He supposed it didn't matter that the boy had begged for it, wanted it…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Jack held a spear in one hand and a light in the other. He kept the light moving off to the side, away from Richard's field of view. The backtracking hadn't taken long, now they were following passages that seemed to curve around the location of the Doctor's ship. They reached a junction. The Key in the Doctor's hand pulled right. Riddick tilted his head like he was listening. Voice low and pitched so that it didn't carry far the large bronze skinned man says, "Sounds open. Can hear them clicking. Might have backed into the passage because of the ice. Wanna go this way?"

The green-eyed boy watched the Doctor close his eyes like he's consulting with something elsewhere. Then again the pale man was odd. Cold like snow, but always thinking of helping others. Jack had almost gone to him for relief, thinking he'd 'get' it, and actually assist him, but then it hadn't happened that way.

Behind him River says, "Talking with her." And, of course, Jack finds himself thinking, _who_? The words that come from behind give the impression that he's actually carrying a conversation with the dark-eyed girl, "The golden Lady." He looks back and up at River with a confused look. "His ship," she says as if it is the most normal thing in the 'Verse. He blinks at her and she smiles sweetly. One thing for sure, River is broke. Strange girl. But he does like her; she's got a wicked sense of humor most times. He can't help but to smile back at her when she grins like that.

Then his eyes catch _him_ watching. Try as he might he can't keep up the smile, which turns into a contorted parody. The change makes River step into his view, blocking his sight of the other man. He feels her arms around his shoulders and knows she's trying to protect him from his own memories. She's sweet smelling but clean, like honeydew. But unlike other girls she is not soft. Her arms are toned like steel cable, and her torso is muscled with planes of something very strong. She doesn't look muscle bound, but like Riddick, she has full command of a well-trained body. Yes, she's a girl, but she's not a normal girl. Even relaxed, her thin, graceful, hands are powerful and slightly cool against his arm. Everything about her looks delicate, but he bets she could kick ass without working up a sweat. Jack sighs at the feeling of safety she gives him. Much like her brother did, the embrace is all comfort, seeking to give without taking. He has to blink away the tears that threaten to start flowing again.

"I think we should at least block this passage, or we'll have hungry natives behind us. Only we can't because the entire area is ready to crumble," came the Doctor's voice.

"Is that why the ship isn't coming to your telepathic call?" the priest asks.

"No. She's just being stubborn."

From behind them comes a sound, a voice, that makes Jack cringe, and he's glad River is still holding him, "You make it sound as if this ship of yours is alive."

"Because she is, Mr. Olgivie," There's enough frost in that response to chill the air more than a few degrees, as the Doctor fixes the man with a piercing stare that broadcasts, _I don't like you_. It's the most hostile the hairless fellow has been toward any of them, Johns aside right after his huge flub with the skiff. The temptation is to step away from the pair before something horrible catches the rest of them in the crossfire.

"Can we deal with this later?" Fry says. Bloodshed with the predators in hearing distance was not at the top of the wise mountain at the moment. The Time Lord gazes at her with an _as you wish_ look that she nods to.

"There's a connecting passage that continues around about a dozen meters to the left. The next one that leads toward the sinkhole is blocked by ice, but there are no predators and no chasms directly beyond it. We still have about thirty-four meters past that to get through to reach the ship, and it's possible that she's covered in ice as well."

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," the docking pilot orders. "Going around is better than going through. I don't want to risk trapping ourselves here."

And so they head left, before turning and following a series of passages that run around the depression that eventually turn once again toward the TARDIS's pull on her key. This time once they reach the ice sheet they find something else has changed. It's snowing.

Jack shivers, looking out the distorted plane of semi-clear ice at the iridescent gossamer shifting down like smooth glistening transparent scraps of plexi-wrap from the sky. The bioraptor's noises are muffled from snow, big shimmering flakes floating lazily in thick sheets. It's so cold that his breath is making misty puffs in the air. The Doctor and Riddick whisper about how to get through the ice and finally ask Fry for the torch. They won't need a very hot flame with as cold as it is.

The torch makes fairly quick work of the ice, forming a portal that Rich kicks out as soon as the edges are melted. But the ground is slick with the previously laid down ice, even though there is snow atop it. They must move together in an odd shuffle to avoid falling.

It's not that far, yet – it's miles away. They are surrounded by hammerheads, all of which move in closer at this new intrusion to their existence. The sonic bursts don't drive them back; the light doesn't seem to make the shy away. Instead they seem drawn to the heat, because it is so very cold. Jack points his spear at the bunch becoming slowly visible on his right, letting the light swing against his wrist as he forgoes holding it in favor of using both hands with the weapon. "Why are they getting closer?"

"Trying to melt the ice, I suspect," answers Abu who has likewise switched to both hands on the spear he's holding.

River has closed ranks with Jack turning her body to protect Ali, along with Simon, "Not anticipated adaptation."

Across from her, Suleiman copies her stance, forcing Paris to match Simon. "No," he agrees, "Quite unlike what they have done before."

Johns pulls a flare, "Lets give 'em some light that burns then, Ok?" He pops it and chucks it into the mass to the right.

The natives respond to that by erupting up into the air, screeching, a chaotic mass of wild panic that makes those on the left respond by instinct. River, seeing the connections suddenly spring into view, locks eyes with the Doctor and pulls the shiv that Riddick helped her make. The Time Lord's eyes are inhumanly hard and flinty. But he nods to her, letting her know that this is right, and she must do it. To take her place she must make these hard choices, to show him, the storm, what she is made of. She glances over at Jack, catching the boy within her personal 'verse untouched by the outer chaos. Plucking up Paris' fiber optic lead she looks into the boy's green eyes and offers him the shiv.

Jack understands. She's inviting him to make his own freedom. Time seems to stop; the razor sharp edges coming out of the thick snow somehow flowing around them but not touching. It's not just _Mr. Olgivie_ he has a chance to let go of, but his entire past. If only he does it, otherwise River will take the revenge for him but the past will remain to haunt his soul forever. Looking into her eyes he knows this will work. All he has to do is cut the glowing _orange_ cord that she holds in her hand. Peace settles into his being as he takes the brilliantly-crafted razor-sharp blade from River's hand and curls his other over the cord giving himself a tense section to slice through. He can follow Ali's route and be a normal boy. He wants this. Jack cuts the glowing cable, removing himself from the horrors of his past and the potential terror of his future.

River takes the blade back and drops the useless lead before the glow has a chance to fade and presses her spear into Jack's hands because his own flies off, impaled in a hammerhead without the boy's realization. He doesn't question, too busy catching up with himself as time snaps back into normal flow. The freedom is heady.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The change that occurs is like lightning coursing through the group. At first it is hard to tell if it's Johns leading the altered mood or someone else. Either way, they all feel it. They all must make a choice.

Riddick sees the action happening behind him and moves to stop Imam from interfering. It's Jack's future. Jack's right to decide. Abu pauses and catches the importance of what is happening and for whatever reason decides that perhaps this is God's will. He turns his attention to poking at a hammerhead flying overhead to keep it away from Ali. The Arabic boy crouches down in the middle of the group, wisely staying safe.

Suleiman is next to the traitor, knowing that it is time. It's as if River reached into his mind and told him exactly what was about to happen, or perhaps he'd always known. As the fade of the fiber optics leaves the man's body he jostles him back inside the group, just enough for the medical scalpel hidden in Simon's hand to become an effective weapon.

The Tam scion hadn't even thought about the blade he carried in case of emergencies until he saw the flash sharpened metal in River's hand. He'd kept the scalpel out so he could cut the lead if Paris panicked, but now it had a different use. The Doctor's voice in his head telling him who had hurt Jack was enough to re-ignite the fury he felt earlier. And alongside his own anger were the simmering emotions of everyone else. Somehow, they all knew. He could see the proof of it from his reopened connection with River, gleaned from Jack.

Seconds passed, the lead cut, floating, glow fading, through the cellophane flakes of snow toward the ground. He blinked. First blue then coppery orange and back to blue as the light fled. He turned in slow motion, following the dimming glow with his eyes. The future opened before him, a golden storm of possibility beyond anything else he had ever imagined. It was terrible and beautiful all at the same time. It was the part of him he buried in an effort to make his father love him, to be proper, right, _human_. Only he wasn't. He'd never been. Like their mother, neither he nor River had fully been human. Suddenly he knew why River had been sent away. His anger ramped up. This cut, a single swipe, a spill of red, _human_ blood, would open up the locked areas of his being. He could be so much more.

Simon caught Paris as he stumbled back into him. On the brink of his destiny, he hesitated and looked down at the man he was supporting. _Stupid ape_._ Feasting on the innocence of your own young and trying to pass the blame off on them, how many others have you done this to_? The words are not his, but the Doctor's, who through the link they share, can see what he does. The Time Lord burns with cold rage that is so much greater than Simon's. And the raven-haired man knows why. It's horrific, the price the Doctor has paid to preserve humanity. Cancer like this doesn't deserve second chances.

To help his sister, he would do anything, brave anything. For _Mei-Mei_ there is no other course of action. It's what she needs to heal. Simon smiles an imperturbable smile at Paris as the man looks up at him from his off-center pose.

The blue eyes Olgivie sees are not the kind eyes of Dr. Simon Tam, but the hard alien eyes of the Doctor. It takes the art dealer a blink to realize that he's been forsaken.

Orange. The man's aura is orange. Bright neon flickers of fear.

The alarm on his face doesn't deter the blade as it cuts length-wise and deep, opening a wound that no matter how cold Paris becomes will continue to bleed on the arm nearest to it. And then Simon pushes him away, between Fry and Johns, tossing the blade out into the snow to his right.

Time snaps back into place as the marshal and the docking pilot close ranks. For reasons unknown to Paris, they have all made the same choice to punish him for what he's done. They leave him with his lit hat and his lit bag but don't attempt to stave off the bioraptors that settle back into the snow around him drawn in by the blood scent. "No! You can't do this. This can't be happening!" He tries to gain his feet on the slick surface of snow covered ice, finally crawling towards the light that is creeping away from him.

John points his shotgun at the man, "You piece of shit, not even the most depraved con does what you did. My dad didn't even sink as low as you did. Don't ask us for mercy."

"I can pay you! Make it up to the boy. I can give him the finest education in the Core that money can buy."

Carolyn looks like she is going to be sick, "Shut the fuck up. We don't want your blood money, you bastard."

Paris tries to crawl faster, thinking that perhaps he can stay within the faint glow and they won't actually leave him here if he can make it to the ship with the rest of them. But the predators are right on him; curious about this red-blooded warm thing expelled out of the fire. One of the razor claws slices at his back and the bag falls away as he crawls, the lights half out, "Oh, sweet Jesus..." He's not going to make it, and the survivors aren't going to give him a second chance. Head down he starts to crawl faster, not caring about the direction as panic wells up in him. _Oh why, why did he let the green eyed brat tempt him?_

Another raking set of claws slices through the sweater and defunct fiber optic cables. "No, no, no…" it's a nightmare. He loses his glasses as he crawls, and he can't be bothered to try to find them in the snow. He can't stop. Then it happens, a bony blade finds his side and back and slices deeply enough to make him rear up onto his knees with a hiss. The snow parts revealing dark sharp shapes in the white faintly illuminated because of his hat. He's surrounded and there's not sign of the others at all. "I was supposed to die in France. He pulls his lighter as he touches the slick heat flowing over his skin so he can look at it with morbid inquisitiveness. The predators rear back at the new light as he looks at the red coating his hands. He blinks, "I never even saw France." Then there's a squealing buzz and the lighter explodes. He barely has time to scream as the predators pounce on him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"I can't see where he's gone," says Jack.

The Doctor looks at the boy and then points his sonic screwdriver the direction where a moment later a fireball explodes. Jack stares that way listening to the resulting scream.

Richard turns from watching the Doctor, so icy cold in his disregard, to Jack who is looking like a terrible weight has lifted from his thin shoulders, to the mass of feasting predators. The snow actually makes them stand out better. The body is being shredded. A female with a youngling riding on its back noses into the fray but can't seem to get into the meal. She grabs the offspring off and snaps it dead, attempting to trade a bit of flesh for the blood, and her body to the victor. When that doesn't work she begins eating the body of the young she'd been protecting moments before. Around her others begin fighting and killing each other in blood frenzy.

"What do you see, Riddick?" Jack asks.

The ex-ranger looks down at the kid and thinks of the contrast between them and the bioraptors. They wouldn't kill one of their own that they'd been protecting, not one of the young, would they? He swallows and puts a hand on the boy's shoulder before looking back at the mass of fighting monsters. They had turned out one of their and left him to die because he preyed on Jack. Were they any better? He feels the Doctor's brush of reassurance against his mind almost like a physical touch. They were. So much better. They acted together to cast out the cancer that would have destroyed them. He relaxes, "Hunger. Twenty-two years of hunger. "


	32. Part ThirtyTwo Ensnare

**A/N:**_ You guys have proven me wrong about if this mutant plot-bunny had legs or not. As I near the end of this tale I find myself pondering the direction of the next crossover... And It's all because you have bothered to read this one, so thank you.  
Only a few chapters left and this tale will be finished!  
And welcome to Sahalean who placed this on "Story Alert"  
My Reflection, they are almost to the Doctor's beloved TARDIS. Only… things never go so smooth, at least not the way we want them to.  
Cassikat, Johns' problems stem from his addiction and his abrasive personality. I guarantee that if he lives he'll still be a bastard. He just won't dare cross the Doctor. Can you imagine Johns vs. Toombs? Um… that might be a reason to have the fella live.  
Ck16, if you thought that was hungry wait until you read what happens next._

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Thirty-Two

Ensnare

The snow-flecked darkness is filled with inhuman sounds. The clicking screeches, the pounding of bone on bone, calls that translate across species lines as those made in the heat of sex. All punctuated with clashing claws, rending of muscle and bone, breaking of losers' bodies by the victors of the fights going on full force in the icy night around them.

Instinct makes the bioraptors ignore the glowing thing in their midst because they have learned from countless generations that the things which glow cause them pain. Now that there has been the reintroduction of fire to melt away the ice and warm red blood to incite them into the frenzy of life again the glowing intrusion is unimportant.

The survivors, now numbering ten, huddle together, each touching another, shuffling carefully to maintain balance on the ice coated ground. The snow, heavy as it is falling, is light enough that each move sends clouds of it back into the sky. Jack uses his spear, held in one hand, as a walking stick, point down in an effort to grip the ice better. River rests a light hand on his shoulder, and he has his other hand caught up in the belt loops of the broadly shouldered man in front of him. In addition to River's hand helping to steady Jack, there are Ali's fingers against his back, holding the sweater and forming a link between he and Imam.

River reaches back to hold Simon's suspenders, as she has no spear, while her brother copies Jack and uses his in a similar fashion. His other hand holds onto Fry. Johns shuffles behind the Doc, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding his gun. He thought he hated rain? He's never been in snow like this before. Can't see for the thickness of the stuff. Carolyn has given up on the pistol, placing it back in his holster. It's a good thing too, because he needs the weight to keep his balance. Then it helps that the docking pilot seems to know how to gently guide him into moving in such a way as to not fall through her hand on his belt.

Suleiman is holding onto Ali, with a spear in his other hand, while Fry links to him from the marshal. He's wishing that he could forgo the spear and link hands with River at the moment, but realizes that it's a stupid wish. His little brother holds onto the father by his robes and Jack by his sweater. Like him, Imam is using a spear and holding onto the person in front of him whom happens to be the Doctor. The link is completed by the fact that the pale tall man and Richard are grasping each other's elbows, right to left, in firm grips as they jointly set the smooth pace for the controlled slide across the ice.

It's impossible to actually talk above the racket going on around them. Not that it's stopping conversations from flowing through the linked network of body language. It's primitive, more of a '_move here, tilt there, shuffle now together, careful, slick_' kind of thing. But perhaps it's more effective that way.

Richard is really the only one that can see through the dark and the filtering flakes of cold. He wishes he couldn't. It's not helping him much at the moment to see the death, frenzied feeding, wild bloodshed, and animal copulation happening around him. The smell of alien blood, blue blood, is thick in the frigid air. Nothing familiar about the strange metallic smell or the dark patches staining the steaming snow that he's pushing aside with his feet. The ex-ranger is hoping Jack don't see it. He doesn't want the boy to know the evidence of the massacre going on around them. His hand grips the leather clad arm with a hold that is white knuckled.

The Doctor is following the pull of the TARDIS, guiding them all along, trusting Richard to indicate if there is danger in the path. So far the pressure on his elbow has been even, consistent. It is going to leave a bruise, that much he knows. But there's no point in being worried about it. Clearly the bronze-skinned man is not comfortable with the situation, maybe even; he is scared a bit by it. Then again, they are moving through a blood frenzied mass of killing predators. And the Doctor is just a bit frightened himself. The only thing keeping them safe at the moment is the glow of the fiber optics and the sonic 'shield' that he's creating with his screwdriver to give the impression of there being one large worm-like entity, instead of ten red-blooded, soft skinned, delicate edibles.

Behind him Imam is sending up a steady plea to his God, speaking in Arabic. Not that it matters, the man has been speaking in Arabic nearly all along without realizing that everyone can understand him anyway. His voice doesn't carry far, but the Doctor has exceptional hearing and can catch the musical formation of his frenetic prayers. If humans could only place as much faith in themselves as they did in their higher powers, there was no limit to what the fantastic creatures could accomplish.

Suleiman hears all their voices in Arabic, it's the only language he truly knows, aside from a smattering of Chinese and English he's picked up from Jack, most of which is fairly vulgar, but knowing how to swear in three languages is a good skill for anyone to know. He bets that River knows even more than Jack does. It would be nice to have a chance to learn some languages from her, to be her friend if nothing else. He looks up and scans the night around them; the flakes scatter the light and make it seem as if there's a wall of faint blue around them. The young man sighs and looks back at his feet, but as he turns his head he catches River's soft smile. He blinks at her and smiles back although he's looking down.

No choice but to trust, Carolyn figures. It's hard though. She can't forget that she has done as bad as Paris did. Maybe they will turn her out next for trying to jettison them all. It would serve her right, wouldn't it? But she told the Doctor about that, about how Owens tried to stop her and was wounded because his door was wedged open. How she stopped his heart from beating after when he was in such splendid agony that she felt her own soul ripping apart. She's willing to die though, for these others. Maybe that makes a difference.

William has lived with his demons so long that he's almost forgotten what things could be like without them harping in his ears. Now over the last few days – hours – he's not sure really – something has changed. The angered voice of his old man telling him he's worthless trash has stopped rattling around his skull. He don't deserve the peace of it, he knows. He earned that demon. Or maybe he paid for it and someone has let it go. Driven it away because he shouldn't have to live like that anymore. He remembers the anger in the cold, dark blue, ageless eyes after he fucked up the skiff; he should be quaking in his boots still. But something changed, he wasn't sure what it was, or why, but he had a feeling that Dr. Tam's offer wasn't just his own. And maybe by taking it he's redeemed some part of himself. _Is this what the last moments of your life feel like_?

Simon is trying, so very hard, to not be distracted by all the – colors and shapes – auras around him. It's beautiful, really. He wants to just sit and look, to unravel the meanings that exist in each one, to unlock the mysteries that these people hold. Not that he has that time, right at this moment. The noise beyond the 'wall' of snow is a very strong reminder that it's not safe to be tripping about outside of his head. He's going to have to get used to this new layer of visual information.

The crimson and saffron flickers from the marshal behind him have switched from spikes to swirling, licking, flame. The smoky embers from the docking pilot have become warmer with an occasional flickering spark of vivid red, like she's starting to forgive or let others forgive her of her actions. Suleiman is positively opulent bluish-green, an even glow that shows his faith and his fear in equal parts. River's sapphire color is like the currents in the ocean, pulling deeper shades of watery tones in and letting them go with ease. Jack and Rich are both showing mellow earthy tones of brown, with the older man's being slightly more metallic than the boy's. Ali's green tones are emerald and jade sparkles. Abu is radiating with a tropical aqua shade that reminds Simon of a summer sky while the Doctor's aura is such a velvety navy that only the turbulence of it renders it visible against the night. But Simon can see that where Rich's aura and the Doctor's aura meet silver sparks dance. His eyes are drawn to the linked arms, and the arcing energy he can perceive moving along it. He wonders what that means.

River can feel the golden Lady reaching out to them, welcoming them. They are almost there. She's such a bountiful ether of a being, the missing, secret element that the Doctor has as his steady companion. The flaxen light around her is something that most people can't see, but River can. There's an uncounted, infinite, number of connections here, filaments of ochroid and amber and verdant… And they reach through the Lady, to something beyond. It makes her ache, because she knows she should be able to see that unknown. It's like she's blind or missing her sense of touch. The dull pain spreads through her skull, like a headache, only deeper, along the cuts made in her brain. She feels the hot tears spill from her eyes but can't – won't – cry out even as they freeze to her cheeks.

Ali is glad to be in the middle. It's harder to fall with the others around him, holding him upright. It's safer too. He can listen to the prayers of Imam and feel the hand of his brother behind him and he knows he's going to make it. And he thanks God for every breath.

The snow has changed, from pristine white to crystalline blue. There's so much death going on around them that the air itself is filled with the freezing drops of bioraptor blood. The first clue that anyone has of the change is the hail-like pelting of frozen drops that cuts through the snow. Riddick gives up his attempt at hiding the fact of the events around them from Jack as the grains of blue begin to pile up. He feels the Doctor urging him to keep moving, slightly toward the left now.

Jack looks at the pelting 'hail' that is covering his clothes, rolling off his shoulders. Hard grains of blue. The taste of it in his mouth is metallic bitter, sour and salty with an aftertaste that reminds him of cleaning chemicals when he accidentally has some melt against his lip. Ugg. He feels sickened by it. Then something crashes down to his left between he and Ali, shattering into pieces as it hits the hard ice. "Don't let go!" he screams. That carries enough for grips to tighten across the group.

"That was part of one! A tail I think!" Ali calls back to him in shock.

The horror that Richard has been witness too starts to spread through them as they realize that the hard granules are blood drops, frozen on their way to the ground. "Don't look up!" came the commanding voice. Riddick is not sure if he's the one that spoke or if the Doctor did, but it doesn't matter. Suleiman slips a little as some of the hard pellets find their way under his shoe. Carolyn tugs him upright. "Keep your feet flat against the ice and slide forward. Do _not_ look up."

There's a good reason for the order. As the 'hail' forces the snow down, the air overhead clears to reveal that the entire area above the sinkhole is a boiling mass of predators. The lowest layer is just high enough to catch the edge of their glow. "Allah, preserve us!" cries Abu through the sounds of 'hail' that is all too solid and meaty. Bits of the losers in the mass aerial battle are starting to fall around them, between them, shattering on impact.

"Keep moving! Concentrate! Just a bit further!"

For Imam, prayer is a way to concentrate, "_So dark the clouds around my way I cannot see; But through the darkness I believe God leadeth me. I gladly place my hand in His when all is dim; And, closing my weary eyes, lean hard on him_..." He speaks loudly now trying to draw the others into his words. Suleiman, Ali and Jack pick up the refrain as he continues, freely supporting his faith and their own.

The Doctor knows that they have just a few more meters to cover -- ten at most. The TARDIS is just in front of him, calling to him. She's on unstable ground, and he feels the wash of mauve she sends out like a blow to the gut. His twitch makes Richard stop. "What. What is it?"

"Weight. We're too heavy together for the ground to support us and the TARDIS."

"How far?" Jack asks behind him.

The Doctor looks again toward his ship and tries to call her to him. Such a little jump. But she won't do it. He suppresses his annoyance with her. It's less than thirty feet, he knows she can do that small of a hop. "Just about eight meters," he tells the boy.

"Can we stretch that far? Do we have enough lead to?" Imam asks.

Riddick then says, "Take the torch and go to her, Doctor." Only the Time Lord shakes his head. The only thing keeping them safe is his finger on the sonic screwdriver and the illusion that they are one being. Without that the creatures overhead will descend upon them and kill them all. "Then what? What can we do?"

Simon looks at William. "How many flares do you have left?"

"Three. Why?"

"Do they – explode?"

The marshal snorts, "They can, if defective. Wait. Are you suggesting that we make the ground give way?"

"Oh, that is _brilliant_!" The Doctor says, turning to look back at them. "There's a safe chamber, like the glowing-creature filled one we passed through before, below this, about fifteen feet down. We can make that, helping each other."

Johns takes out a flare. He looks a it and hands it to Simon, "So how do you make a perfectly good flare defective?"

The Tam lad smiles at him. "I have no idea. But River might." Only when he goes to hand the flare off he sees that River has been crying and has ice over her face. "_Mei-Mei_?" The tears have not blocked her breathing, but she's clearly not altogether there. Simon looks at her face with concern and tries to get some response from her unseeing eyes, "Doctor?"

"We're going to have to work together here. Abu, I need you to hold this down, and don't let it up." The Doctor indicates the sonic screwdriver, and carefully orchestrates the change of hands. "It's set to make our blue-blooded friends think that they have a giant glow-worm in their midst, and one slip will reveal the deception. I think you already know what that will lead to." The Imam gives him a look that relays his complete understanding. The Time Lord removes his glowing vest, leaving it in the front position.

They slowly shuffle positions to allow the Doctor to get to River. People are shrugging out of the glowing sweaters now, setting them on the ground. Ali removes the backpack and Suleiman helps he and Jack remove the generator out of it.

"Johns. You're an expert shot. Maybe you should come up here," Riddick tells him.

"Gonna shoot the flare?" Fry asks.

"That would make it go boom, yeah," he says as he carefully moves up to Riddick's side. "So, how we gonna do this?"

Richard takes his shiv and cuts some of the key spots of threading that holds the glowing cable to his sweater. "You need to see the flare to shoot it, but it can't go off on impact. What if I wedge something into the side so it can't pop open, and then latch it to another one that can? You'll have something to shoot at."

"What you gonna use?" Johns kneels down next to the con and watches him pull a long length of the thin, strong cording that River used to attached the fiber optics out of the garment.

"My shiv. Should wedge in far enough. I'll snap the tip off."

William shakes his head, "Don't like the idea of leaving you with no blade." He pulls the marshal's badge off, "Use this."

"You sure?"

"Heh, -- no. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, didn't your mama ever tell you that?" Johns watches the silver-eyed man shake his head, "Go on, take it." He hands over the badge although Rich is reluctant, "If we make it out of here I can get a new one."

"Do you want this flare?" Simon asks those in the front.

Johns responds, "Keep it. I've got two here, we'll use these. You might need that one."

"Suleiman? If you would please start knotting a ladder like we used to climb down the core shaft using the optic cables? You will need to use twice the thickness of the other. Try not to cut it, and leave it connected to the generator for as long as you can," the Doctor instructs as he touches River's temples and frowns. Intense heated plasma-like pain dances under his fingertips and through the girl's brain along artificial pathways that shouldn't exist, "Simon, what do you have for pain? Your sister is in agony."

Suleiman nods at the orders and pulls his knife to start undoing the fiber optic cables from the clothing. Fry, Jack and Ali settle down to help him.

Simon turns his attention back to his sister, scanning her. "Where? I'm not showing any injury or readings that indicate pain."

"And yet? Simon, trust me. She _is_ in great distress. I can help her, but not right now. There's no way to block this here, and I can't manage it for her. Do you have anything for pain left or not." While he's talking River's hands come up and grip the Time Lord's arms, fingers digging into the pulse points on his wrists. The flood of fiery sensation washes over him like a wave but building instead of cresting.

He catches the raven haired man saying, " –tor?" _Must have blanked out there for a moment_. The worry on the lad's face is enough for the Time Lord to mask the physical sense of lava-like torture crawling along his nerves like living molten fire from his face.

He's not sure how much longer _he_ can cope with this. It's like someone rigged River to become a trap once she was exposed to certain stimuli. He can't let go of her, and even if he pulls out of River's mind she's caught his arms and is pumping the torment into him. "Simon, this, whatever _it_ is, is going to cause me to collapse in a few minutes if you don't do something to prevent it." It's more like seconds, really. He's sure that they will have an impossible time getting into the TARDIS if he is unconscious.

That spurs the Tam lad into action. He doesn't just give River something for pain, but knocks her out cold. The first thing the Doctor notices is that her hands fall away leaving him with the sensation of burning that if he hadn't already nearly died of would cripple him. As it is, he's able to suppress the raw desire to scream, barely. It takes seconds after the shot is delivered into her system for both the dark haired girl and the leather clad man to sink to their knees. She continues to crumple, sagging against her brother's legs. "Are you all right, Doctor?" Simon asks.

He's not, no. The burn has faded somewhat, feeling like his nerves are raw and on fire but not to the extent he was at milliseconds before. But he can't tell the lad that. The molten pain in River's brain had migrated into his own, following a twisted path toward a goal that he had yet to figure out. He knows that River still feels the agony. Until he fixes her, transforms her, she'll feel it. He can throw out some guesses as to who is behind this and why River was targeted. It's not the time to deal with that yet. His first goal must be getting the others to safety. "'M fine, me. Just a bit here to gather my balance, lad."


	33. Part ThirtyThree Sacrifice

**A/N:**_ RomanaSharla thanks for adding this as a 'Favorite Story'. I'm quite honored.  
JamieT19 has placed this on Story Alert, thank you, too.  
And thanks as well to my reviewers, ck16 and My Reflection, and readers.  
Yep, the TARDIS can be quite stubborn. Ever see that 1__st__ Doctor episode where the TARDIS nearly drives them all insane? It's called "The Edge of Destruction" or "Inside the Spaceship". Good classic Who, that. Anyway, every good Timeship knows that her Time Lord might need some prompting… and that sometime fate must be allowed to play out, no matter how much it hurts.  
Heh, Johns and Riddick do work together well, when Johns isn't higher than a kite.  
River's little problem will extend beyond this story, and the Doctor will have to out think and out maneuver someone. Well – how _else_ am I to get you to read the next crossover?  
This is the second to the last chapter… _

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Thirty-Three

Sacrifice

" '_M fine, me. -- Just a bit here to gather my balance, lad_."

Richard B. Riddick was a con, a murderer, and a trained killer – none of these things prepared him for the experience he was currently having. Then again, little could match being in the freezing cold surrounded by so much blood that it was falling from the sky like hail. Not to mention the occasional body-part that shattered like a bomb when it hit. He was trying, desperately, to not think about what they had done to get this far. He didn't want to think about what they might have to do to make it past this point. That left him with the _now_. And aside from the precise work he was doing, he didn't want to dwell on that overly much, either.

Mainly because he was insanely worried about the drama going on behind him between the Doctor, Simon, and River. He knew something was wrong. Very wrong. He rubbed his fingers over the marshal's badge in his hand, trying to suppress the urge to drop what he was doing an' check on the stubborn alien himself. Something about the thick accent just pinged against his awareness as _off_. Maybe it was the fact that there were some half formed musical sounds that seemed beyond everyone else's hearing hovering around that last sentence. Then again the shiver he felt moving up his spine might just be the cold.

And, of course, he can't let Johns know what he's feeling or he'll never hear the end of it.

Once again, his blue-eyed devil was pulling a wild card, having come to his original senses at some point like the intervening years between their meeting in the war and their re-meeting after the scandal that put the bronze-complexioned man in Slam had been stripped away. This was the 'Billy-Bad-Ass' that had been his comrade-in-arms, the man he'd respected for all the abrasive and nasty parts of his personality because the fella had, when all the chips were down, been a good guy. He'd caught glimpses of the man, here and there, through the years of being chased from one Slam to another. Likely why time and time again he'd pulled the redhead's ass out of the fire.

The ex-ranger turned con was currently making a flare 'defective'. Or rather, deliberately fucking it up so that it would explode. Having been in Slam, actually in and out of most of them in the 'Verse, Riddick picked up talents that no one in their right mind would think to want. Turning things into weapons, making explosives out of items especially designed to _not_ explode, destroying expensive stuff just to piss folks off – well, it appeased his inner vandal, he supposed. He was _good_ at it. He could see how to make the most of anything, weapon-wise. Saved his own gorram ass more than once, too.

As Richard worked, Johns proved that his training as a killer, different than the bronze-toned man's for sure, was just as effective. They had made a good team, back then. One to pick 'em off at a distance and one to plug the holes with seemingly nothing. Not that Riddick couldn't shoot. To the contrary, he could, almost as well as William could, but he always preferred close combat, injury to killing, and the fact was that in most battlefields his tactics removed three times the enemy that Johns' did.

The merc had gotten into his gear and exchanged parts of his second pistol to turn it into a fair sniper's weapon. Amazing how the man could go from marshal to assassin in less time than it took most folks to switch their train of thought. The silver weapon now had a longer barrel, an attached scope, and a semi-full clip. "Only got six shots with this baby," Billy was telling the other man with a purr in his voice. Meaning, of course, that he'd only used the gun in this form six times before this.

The quicksilver eyes scanned over the weapon, "Neat little gun. Where'd you pick it up?"

"Ah, some little backwater Blue-Sun planet." The navy-clad shoulders shrug. Then he thinks a moment and corrects himself, "Terraformed Moon." Actually, Johns is feeling rather vocal and sharing at that instant, "Hauled in a guy for a local hick and noticed that the guns were of better quality than most other places, so I opted for one instead of my usual fee. Custom job, express order. Almost had it done in a gunmetal finish, but the chrome caught my eye." He's rambling now, maybe because he's sensing that Rich is paying attention to his voice. It's been a long, long time since anyone was interested in something of his. Not even Fry had been, when he tried to talk about Riddick that lifetime ago, "Wasn't like the creds there were worth much elsewhere, anyhow. It was before that stupid browncoat civil war and the moon was printin' it's own. One of my first cases." They meet each other's eyes. William is giving him a soft-ish expression that is not quite a smile as he thinks about the past; "I would imagine that by now its Alliance issue everything." The redhead's expression changed to one of worry, "Hey, you don't suppose that this is gonna hurt the Doc's ship, do ya?"

Richard has been reprimanded enough to automatically toss out, "_Bob's_?"

He's not looking at the expression on Johns' face so the man finally says, "Huh?"

"Sorry, inside joke. You mean the Doctor. Not Simon, right?" The confused look doesn't go away. He chuckles, "Told me no to call 'em 'Doc' because we was already callin' Simon 'Doc', so I said 'how about _Bob_?' Actually got a laugh outta him. So now when he corrects me I call him Bob. But as to your question, somehow I think it'll take a lot more than this flare going boom to damage his ship."

"Weird," the merc says as he shakes his head. "You don't know his name? Or where he's from? Or how he got here? And yet – you're tighter than lovers with 'im."

"Exactly what are you implying, Billy?"

Johns shakes his head, "Nothing! I don't know what you and he have been getting up to, Rich, and before you go tellin' me, I don't wanna know. Ok? If you are – whatever – with the man, just keep it to yourself." Riddick started to open his mouth with a retort. "No." William cuts the other man off with the wave of a hand, "Maybe you don't see it yet. Maybe nothing has happened, _yet_. But I can fuckin' see with my own eyes the effect he has on people. Got you tied around his little finger." The two men stared at each other, one with certainty and the other with disbelief. "Don't give me that look. If he wanted you, and realized that he wanted you, he'd have you. And you wouldn't fight him, Rich. Mark my words."

"I think you need another one of those miracle clear-head shots that Simon gave you, Billy. You're seeing connections where there are none."

To his chagrin, the other man just made a snorting laugh, "Right." He leans over and puts his lips to Riddick's ear and whispers, "Why is he watching you with a possessive glint in his eyes, then? Huh?" It looks like quite an intimate moment between them and Rich is hyper aware of the fact because of how suggestively Johns moves. Almost like he's trying to get himself lashed into by the Doctor's very sharp tongue for stepping over bounds that have been invisibly drawn. The ex-ranger narrows his eyes at the merc, before taking a quick peek over at the leather-clad subject of the discussion. And sure as shit, a pair of eyes is watching them filled with –_something_ that is very strongly warning Johns to behave.

Riddick catches the Time Lord's eyes and raises an eyebrow at the man's display. The Doctor's face morphs into puzzled innocence. _What_? Again they reflect the same question back at each other, from dark blue eyes to silver. The con turns back to the marshal, "I think he don't trust you, Billy."

"Around your ass? No, he don't," the man jabs at him lightly. The ex-ranger still thinks that Johns is not interpreting the Doctor correctly but decides at this point that riling the man up further, either of them really, is a not wise idea. So he lets it drop as he begins to attach the second flare to the first in such a way that it will land and pop the good one open.

The redhead makes a kissing face over his shoulder at the pale man, not noticing how pinched his features are without the extra provocation. "Johns," hisses Carolyn, "Stop trying to get the Doctor pissed off with you. Do you have a death wish or something?" Behind her Imam is chanting softly, his fingers holding the sonic screwdriver in a certain steady grip, although the mahogany-skinned man is mentally quite far away. The boys are knotting a ladder out of the glowing cables still. Simon is holding River, leaving the Doctor to glare freely at the redheaded man. And he is fixing Billy with a look that is rather frightening. It's clear to Johns at least that the hairless gent has set a claim on several people, and that he's still on the outside. But that's ok. He's gonna die here anyhow.

It's all the merc can do to not laugh at Fry.

Here they are, surrounded by glowing cables, being pelted by bits of blue blood and flesh, that by some grace or another just happens to be frozen, getting ready to cause an explosion so that they can reach a fuckin' blue box the size of a closet. He's wondering if she's lost her mind. Or maybe they all have.

"Anyone not ready to do this?" Riddick says as he holds up the connected flares.

"The ladder is not finished," Suleiman says, "But knowing how far it must reach would be helpful."

The con puts his goggles back on, because this is going to be bright. Like a mini-sun, if he remembers correctly. "Close your eyes, people. Johns?"

"Ready. Do it, Rich." It's just like old times, when they worked together during the Wailing Wars. Johns flips the instant filter active on his scope, and watches for the bundle that the bronze man throws to land. He's got time to line the shot up, after the locals ahead of them flap away from the bright green light. The defective canister is somehow facing his gun, making the attempt laughably easy. His frozen fingers squeeze off the shot and although the resulting explosion happens within milliseconds he has time to wonder if he actually hit before the flash of light and heat washes over them. The frozen ground about a three meters away starts to sink downward with a series of cracking sounds.

Suddenly there's a strong hand on his shoulder, vice-like in it's grip, and rather welcome with the heat of it although it's not as warm as a hand should be, "Good man." Johns looks up to see the Doctor's manic grin and wonders why he'd tried to make him angry. He puffs up a bit like he's been rewarded with something highly prized and smirks back. "Never had a doubt," The hand squeezes gently and with a pat is gone.

They gather up what is left of the optic cables and move carefully forward. "It looks quite slippery," Carolyn notes.

The Doctor looks at Simon who is carrying River and his bag. "Let me carry River, all right?" The Tam scion has to agree that he doesn't want to fall while holding his unconscious sister. "Let's tie one of the optic cables around our waists as an extra precaution," the man says as he carefully takes the dark-haired girl from her brother.

It's a given that the Doctor will go first with River, and Simon will follow him with Jack and Ali. Imam gives back the sonic device, re-enacting the delicate switch to maintain the pressure on the button. The explosion has driven off the majority of the predators, and injured or killed a vast number besides. This gives them some time, not much but some, to descend down into the chamber below that is filled with phosphorescent larvae and other life. The holy man insists that Carolyn follow the children down but has no luck in getting Suleiman to agree to follow her. Instead, sensing they don't have time to argue he goes next with the older pilgrim following him. This leaves Johns and Riddick to haggle over who gets the end, and amazingly enough they don't come to blows over it. William needs his hands free for the shotgun, so Richard ends up holding the generator.

The ground has broken away in a series of staircase like drops, tilted crazily, slick with ice and flash melted-refrozen blue blood. In the end, sitting and sliding on their butts is the way they go, even if they don't want the indignity of it. The Doctor sits at the edge of the first 'step' with River cradled against his chest in a sitting position even though she is unaware. He carefully slides his sole over the next one before lowering himself down the half-meter or so. The ice is mirror smooth, and very slick. He won't risk River by standing as he traverses this. His action spares the rest of them from the fall and fast slide that might have occurred otherwise and they each copy him.

Each of the following steps is between a seventh of a meter and a meter down from the last, and some are barely wide enough for a foot to settle on. They don't have time to think about the route, to doubt their skill or ability to do this so they just manage, somehow, to not lose control as they slide from one step to the next as each tilts down, making a deeper descent than they do across. And four meters in front of them, as they go down, sits the TARDIS, or the roof of it, at least.

There's a meter gap between the edge of the last 'step' and the blue box. Above them the natives are returning in droves, suddenly aware that the situation is not what they had originally perceived it to be. "Doctor, let's get the children down fast!" The ladder unrolls, long enough for a second way down. The Time Lord places River beside him, and makes the slide to the crumpled ice below, "Here, take River," Simon calls to him as he lowers his sister, feet first to the man below. Lucky for Simon that Imam catches him before he follows her, headfirst.

Riddick takes the top of the ladder, "Ali, Jack – go. NOW! Don't argue." He shoos the boys onto the ladder. " Go, Carolyn."

The Doctor settles River down and moves to catch Simon who is slowly sliding toward him. Imam looks scared. Rightly so, really. He's sliding on the steep slope with no way of stopping himself, holding Simon by the ankles. "Got you, Father," says Johns. "Looks like we're gonna go down one way or another, huh?" he jokes.

"It does indeed seem so, Mr. Johns. I would, if I were you, perhaps keep an eye out behind you."

The merc turned halfway at that and blasted a hammerhead that was creeping up on them. The force of the recoil made Simon yell as he went over the edge.

"I've got you, lad," The Time Lord says as he catches him. "Hang on, just a sec."

Abu tries to find some purchase on the ice with his hands once the dark-haired young man is down and finds Suleiman catching him, "Go down the ladder, boy!" he orders.

"I am not letting you fall, Imam."

Richard ducks a swooping predator and the resulting blast from the marshal's gun. Both motions cause him to slip, and Carolyn calls up, "We're down! Hurry, now!"

The Doctor's voice comes from below Abu, "Suleiman, let him slide, I will catch him. Come down the ladder."

But Suleiman has other ideas. Ideas that are perhaps not his own but good ones none the less. The universe is not yet done with Johns and Riddick, and not all of them are going to make it. So when the redhead grips his arm to push him toward the ladder he lets go of his mentor and sends up a prayer that this will work, that only one sacrifice is needed for the others to live. Then he moves his arm sending the marshal down the slope after Imam, somehow stopping his own slide.

"Suleiman! Down the ladder!" orders the dark-skinned man as he slips over the edge. It's not much of a surprise that the Doctor catches him and helps him gain he footing, "Mr. Johns is right behind me."

The marshal manages to find a small bump that he wedges his heel into. He's flat against the ice, on his side with the shotgun pointing up the slope toward where the bioraptors are gathering. There are three of them still on the ledge; Richard is sliding, unable to find purchase against the ice until he digs in with his shiv. William sees the large bull hammerhead swipe at the bronze skinned man and orders, "Down!" as he brings the gun to bare. It's like slow motion; the scythe-like bone slices into the generator with a flash of sparks because the ex-ranger moves to block as he lays flat. The barrel of the gun comes into alignment and goes off. Johns feels the tenuous hold he's got on the slick surface give way. The last thing he sees is the shower of blue in the fading glow that explodes over the other two before he finds himself falling. And then he's helped to find his balance down below by Imam, Fry and the Doctor.

Riddick finds himself staring at the kid, "Go on down the ladder." The others below are urging the same thing, but it is as if the kid can't hear them.

Suleiman looks past him, shaking his head, "Take care of them." The young man somehow manages to stand. Rich feels his feather-soft fingers on his shoulder for the slightest of moments. It's like the touch of an angel; "They need you."

There's a screeching and the ex-ranger lets go of the ladder to grab the boy's wrist, to tug him down. "You don't need to do this, we can both make it, Suleiman." But he knows in that instant that they won't both make it. He can push the lad down or he can go himself, but one of them will die here. The Arabic boy shakes his head and reaches up with one hand that is slick and bright with moist heat. Somehow he's cut himself and is bleeding.

"Save River. He'll need your help. It was my time to go, from the start." And to stave off any other protest he kicks Riddick's shiv free from both the ground and his hold, sending it off into the darkness.

"No!" the goggled man grips tighter, feeling the warm slick running over his fingers, the smell of copper thick in his nostrils. Something has caught the boy, and Rich can't see what it is, he's not got energy to spare. The tug increases, his hand is slipping because of the blood, and Suleiman is not trying to hang on. Even as he brings his other hand up he knows it's too late. "Not like this! Suleiman, don't do it!"

The boy gives him an angelic smile, eyes lit like he's seen God himself, their hands slide against one another, and then he is gone into the night. Riddick is so stunned by the vision that he doesn't scream a final time, doesn't feel his body sliding over the cold slick under him, doesn't even realize he falling until he stops, caught by the Doctor before he can hit the ground. He blinks behind his goggles, caught in the knowing gaze of the ancient being holding him. The goggles are lifted. They share a forever-moment of grief; Time stopped just for them in that eternity of loss. And then the Doctor's hand moves from the eyewear down to cup his cheek. Fevered fingers brush aside the tear making it's way down Rich's face.

And Riddick knows the man is in horrible, burning, physical pain.


	34. Part ThirtyFour Aurora

**A/N: **_Thanks to my reviewers and readers!__**  
This is the final chapter… but the story will continue if you all want it to. **__ Or maybe even if you don't! __**;-)**_  
_I want to extend special thoughts to the folks who have stayed with me for the last month (wow, has it been that long?) _-- My Reflection, ck16, Robin Moto, Basia Orci, alphaskiier, mirth513, Delphine Pryde, and I'm sure many others that haven't reviewed.  
_I've got a promise to keep to put out a chapter or three of another story, and then I'll be starting on the next adventure. Don't forget that I have __**TARDIS Parking **__set up under my forums for extra thoughts and proddings for additional adventures in this somewhat AU 'Verse. Feel free to post there!_

Summary: The Doctor, reeling from the effects of the TimeWar as the last surviving Timelord, stumbles into a situation he cannot ignore when the TARDIS lands him inside a ship that is clearly in trouble. His people may be gone, but the stamp he's made on the universe is still there, and he finds himself caught in a web spun of the choices he's made in the past… 

It's 2517. Something in the past has prompted humanity to explode out from their home world. Could the events of 2164 be responsible? Was Earth a myth or was it real? In fleeing Earth-that-Was, humanity scattered to the stars across the galactic arm. Initial survey teams targeted likely planets and systems for habitation and not all of them ended up on the same side of the sector. Blue Sun exists on one side, separated by a patch of 'wild space' filled with exotic binary and triple star systems, from the rest of civilized space. Few ships brave the route. But luck has it that one ship is. It's a ghost run, the only contact that the two sides have. Port of Departure: Eavesdown Docks, Persephone. Mixed Sino-Anglo culture. Port of Call: Tangiers-5. Darkside. Mixed Islamic-Anglo culture. Crew complement: Four. Passengers: Forty. Living 'Cargo': Two.

So what happens when a passenger by the name of Dr. Simon Tam and his cargo get on the wrong ship? And just how is this related to the TimeWar?

_Doctor Who / Firefly / Riddick X-over._

_Features Doctor 9, Pre-"Rose"; Simon and River Tam, Pre-"Serenity" Firefly episode 1 and the cast of Pitch Black…_

**Doctor Who and the Great Eclipse**

Part Thirty-Four

Aurora

The cavern around them gives them all the safety they need. But they are not off the planet yet. While none of the bioraptors will dare brave the glowing creatures that dot the surfaces here, the adults in the group are antsy to get inside something, even if it is an odd two by two meter square, blue crate. Not that everyone is totally aware of how close safety is, at the moment. Most of them are reeling in shock of one sort or another.

Ali is distraught, sobbing without shame over the loss of his oldest brother. Hassan had died from his own stupidity, but Suleiman – his had been a loss by choice, an action taken to give others time, hadn't it? Would God accept that or would He see it as something shameful? It hurt so much, to have lost two brothers on this day. Ali was sure he was about to break into a million pieces.

Crying along with him, giving comfort as best he can is Jack. Suleiman and Hassan were not his brothers, but he'd become close to them, all three. And he'd almost led Ali into death that the Doctor had prevented. Somehow he'd hoped that the Doctor would be able to keep them all safe, to pull a miracle so that no one died. But he wasn't that powerful, no one was. In the end fate decided. Or Suleiman had made the choice, but why? Why save Johns?

Simon knows how they must feel, as he numbly holds River, who is unconscious, in his arms. The tears still leak from her eyes, a flow that seems to be without end. There's a sense of helplessness settled over him, because he can't even detect what is causing her the pain she is suffering. All he can hope for is that the Doctor can help her, as he's promised to do.

Johns can't quite get his mind around the fact that Suleiman saved his life at the cost of his own. He had intended on sending the boy and Riddick down and holding off the predators himself. To say that he's in shock would be an understatement.

Imam is hugging both Jack and Ali, fighting back his own tears. He knows Riddick tried to get the boy to come down the ladder. _He_ tried to get the boy to come down the ladder. For whatever reason, Suleiman did this because he believed it was his time to go. Now he had to make good on the boy's sacrifice and get his brother to safety. There would be time for tears later.

Carolyn places a hand on Johns' shoulder and motions toward the blue box. Like the redhead, she's not thinking much at the moment. She is, in short, amazed to be alive.

Richard finds himself nearly supporting the Doctor. It's only a handful of feet to the door of the ship, but all the same he's hoping that the man stays awake long enough to get them inside. "Your key?" he whispers into the gent's ear. He ignores the urge to lick the lobe, or worse yet, bite. The death doesn't impact him nearly as much as it might because he remembers how _happy_ Suleiman looked to have saved him. Although he gets the impression that he did it for River.

The Doctor lifts his head and manages a crazed smirk, tinged with agony. Then he blinks slowly and opens his hand showing that he has the key. Riddick can almost feel the Time Lord gather his strength before he steadies himself, "Right. Almost there." He can't let these people down now when they have suffered so much. It's bad enough that he misled River and lied about the eldest pilgrim. He'd tried to spare her, to deflect away the possibility in the hope that he'd be right, only in the end… Fate was a most powerful mistress, second only to Time and often the two worked in concert. And he hadn't anticipated this awful burning.

The pain in his head is enough to make his vision shrink down to just the TARDIS. The effort of putting one foot into another is the hardest thing he ever fought to do, aside from using the weapon that ended the Time War. The last time he was in this much pain she came to him. But this time the damage is all in his mind, memories of the burning flickering up and down his nerves. Of course she expects him to come to her. It becomes a matter of just forcing himself to walk the distance, one step at a time, ignoring the feeling in his body as he moves. And blocking it off from his face while not looking like he's got a mask on. Then again that's not so very different from what he has been doing since River's hands left his wrists. He knows the situation is bad when he can't clearly recall how much time has passed. But no matter, soon he'll be inside his ship and she can begin helping him fix this – this – whatever it is.

He reaches the door, immensely grateful for Riddick behind him. The key slides into the lock and the door opens. The agony ramps up like his head is going to explode before something kicks in and muffles it leaving him with the feeling like he's got a brick stuck in his forehead made of molten lead. It's all he can do to stumble inside and rest the fire of his skin against one of the coral pillars. She's there, with him, whispering how sorry she is that he's in pain. He suppresses the desire to groan. Behind him the other survivors shuffle inside, expecting cramped conditions and finding that it's anything but. He'd laugh if he didn't feel like he was burning again, only slowly. "Door, please." He makes a vague wave to the lever and is relieved to see that Simon looks back at him to confirm that it's right before doing anything. He nods. The door slides closed with a normal sounding buzz and the fire seems to bank slightly, allowing him to actually see more than a tunnel of what is around him.

Of the survivors, only Riddick and the Tam lad are looking at him with concern. Simon has his hands full, carrying his _Mei-Mei_. But he watches from the console with worry in his eyes. Richard actually places a light hand on the back of the Doctor's neck and stifles a twitching reflex at the heat rising off the normally cool skin. The tingles that dance over his hand are strange, but not unpleasant. The Time Lord seems to draw strength from the contact, much like he did outside.

Johns is the first to actually say anything, "Fucking -- Wow!"

"Mr. Johns," scolds Abu.

Carolyn clears her throat; "It seems --"

Rich lets his hand drift to the man's shoulder, to offer him support. "Bigger on the inside?" the Doctor cuts her off. She nods. "It is, just like what I did for Jack's pack and Simon's bag only on a larger scale. And no. I couldn't have done it for the skiff. The scale is beyond one individual's lifetime worth of work." They were totally safe inside the ship. Which was a good thing, because he needed to get River into the medical bay. He took a deep breath. "This is just the first room. If you will follow me, I'll show you where you can all get cleaned up and perhaps pick some clothes. And Simon can check you over to make sure there was nothing in that blood that might have long term consequences."

They gathered around to follow him, looking like they were in a joint dream of some kind. Thankfully he wasn't being asked to explain every little thing. Good that, because he wasn't sure at the moment if he could. Only the steady presence of Richard and Simon kept him going. Normally, if he were in this degree of discomfort, he'd just let the ship take over until his body could function again. Not an option, this time. He opened the far door, led them down a hallway, asking the TARDIS to please keep things simple for everyone, and opened the door into the main bathing area. "Showers and other facilities." Then he opened the door directly across the hall, "Wardrobe room. You'll find towels and robes inside the showers. She's pretty good at guessing sizes." He stroked the wall, "And down here, another few feet is the medical lab. Simon, bring River in here. I'll see what I've got that might help her while you get a shower."

"I'd feel better to be with you."

The Doctor didn't feel like debating with the lad and just nodded. "Well, then, the rest of you, shoo – go on, clean yourselves up so you stop dripping blue all over the floor."

Imam opened the door and ushered the boys inside, followed by Johns who was saying, "Sounds to me like a heavenly idea. I don't care how impossible it is."

Riddick looked at Fry, "You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, sure. It's not a big deal. I'm just worried about Imam and Ali because they are on hajj, you know? Maybe I'll wait, so they don't mess up their vows."

"Go with Simon, and I'll come get you when they are done," he offers. She nods and follows the Tams and the Doctor into the next room.

It looks like a clinic, pleasantly done in soothing shades with the same walls as the hallway. Cabinets make up the bulk of the color, with the rest being the mattresses or their covers. Simon settles his sister down on one of the beds and lets his eyes wander over the room, curiosity bubbling over. "Have a look-see, lad. I'm sure she'll provide you with any goodie you might desire," the Doctor says to the doctor. Fry just stands near the door, out of the way as Dr. Tam begins taking stock of the room, settling his bag on a counter as he gets caught up in the exploration.

The Time Lord jumps right to more advanced equipment, needing to scan River quickly so that he can determine the cause of her affliction and his own. '_Thank you_,' he sends up to his TARDIS, knowing that she will understand that it's for much more than just keeping Simon busy as he makes his scans. She brushes across his mind, skirting the intense ache. He's rather caught up in the scans, puzzling out the results when Richard steps into the room. Carolyn leaves to shower after Riddick tells her that Abu and the others have moved into the wardrobe room. He's wearing the tee, pants, and slip-ons the ship provided that were sitting near his towel when he dried off, and has no desire to go playing dress up. Watching the intense study that the pale hairless gent is making of the readings flashing by faster than any human could read, Rich realizes that perhaps the Doctor should be laying down too. He's far too flushed to be healthy. "Do you know what is the matter?" he finally asks.

Simon glances over at the advanced tools and is drawn like a moth to a flame. The Time Lord turns to watch the Tam scion drift over, "Yes. And I can patch it, for now. But repair is going to take a great deal of time."

"What is wrong with my sister?"

The Doctor looks at Simon, "She – feels everything. Even those things that are right at the edge of her awareness. The experiments seem to have been designed to suppress her human filtering ability of senses or emotions that she can't fully utilize. The long-term correction for this will require her acquiescence and nearly uninterrupted contact with a psychic therapist." There a pause before the Doctor rushes out the second option, "OrGeneTherapy."

"Or_ gene_ therapy?"

"Yes, but we can talk about this after she's awake."

"How long term would the other route be?" Simon corners the Doctor with narrowed eyes.

The taller man sighs, "Decades. At the minimum."

The dark-haired lad frowns and begins paging back through the scans, gradually seeming to grasp the situation from the numerous diagrams. "They opened up her skull. They _cut_ into her brain. Over _and_ over. _Why?_ -- anyone would cut into a healthy brain is --? They stripped her amygdala," he finally says with quiet horror. He's so engrossed with the scans that the Doctor's pained, agonized even, expression is only seen by the fourth person in the room.

"Doc? Why don't you go get a shower now?" Riddick interrupts. Simon looks away from the data and blinks. The bronze skinned man continues, "You'll thank me, after. River ain't going anywhere." Slowly the younger man nods. He steps away from the scans and out the door. "It's not just that, is it? What are you not wanting him to see?"

"It's – complicated. The procedures done to River carry a hallmark I recognize. Barbaric in the extreme but not beyond what I expect from this particular party. However, it is impossible, or should be, with the weapon used to end – well, it does still exist, so not so foolproof I suppose." Well over half the sentence before seems spoken more to himself then to Rich. Those intense eyes catch his and the man comes to the point; "She's 'infected', for the want of a better term, by a doomsday agent."

Richard swallowed, "And you? She passed it to you, didn't she?"

The Doctor doesn't need to answer. His look is enough.

"Why would someone do that?" The bronze skinned man walks up to River's bed, eyes locked onto the Time Lord's face. He can see the harsh memories etch themselves across the man's face, aging him as only recently fought war could do. He's sure for a moment that the Doctor is going to tell him something very important and potentially quite painful. Seeking to preempt the rending emotional discharge he reaches across and takes the too warm hand in his own. "Doc? _Can_ you fix this?"

There's an ironic snorting pained laugh; "I'm going to have to, _Amadak_. Or I'll lose you too."

Riddick sees a flash of jungle-like forest and orange sunlight, dappled through thick leaves, distant smoke rising in black pillars too dense to be natural fire. A woman in leather, her blue eyes distant and unseeing. Shards of fire and ice raining from the heavens too thick to see the stars through although it was night. And a hand holding an engraved golden disk. Then he blinks. He's not sure if the vision is his own or the alien's.

The Doctor has moved away, preparing some medical concoction that he divides into four parts. Two of the tubes get drops of blood drawn from River. He sets them into a different holder and then draws blood from his own arm for the third vial. No words need be spoken; somehow Richard knows the last tube is for him. He simply offers his arm and waits as the blood is drawn.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Carolyn sits in a nook off the wardrobe room, well, its part of it really, just a bit out of the way from the others. She's asked for something comforting and soft and found that the ship seemed to just know what that was. Fluffy fleece, pajama-style lounge pants with a maroon and charcoal plaid on deep navy, an mottled gray oversized sweater-robe, loafers, and a sleeveless top made of some wine colored silky fabric had answered her desire. Even with her hair damp the outfit made her feel warm and cozy. She's staring out into nothing at the moment, wondering if this is real. Not too cold nor too hot, if not for the faint twisting of her stomach trying to tell her to eat she'd almost think it was a dream.

"You awright?"

She looked up at the blue-eyed man watching her. He was dressed in a Henley-style oatmeal colored shirt and a pair of indigo blue cargo pants that nearly matched his uniform. "Yeah. Is that what you really wanted to wear? There's got to be a thousand things here more comfortable."

"Like the corset and boa off in the corner? Or the full penguin tux with cane and tophat?" he moves over and sits next to her, " -- like a costume shop in here." He eyes over her pants, "Although, those look cushy."

Fry giggles, "Here." She hands him a pair that is just a sold blue, slightly a brighter shade than the background of her own. "Not my size, so they must be yours."

William rubs his eyes then take the pants from her. "I didn't expect to --"

"Don't, Bill." The blonde places fingers over his lips; "I think most of us thought it would be the end of our lives. Just – keep your promise; make good on your word." The hand moves to stroke his jaw, "Ok?"

He watches her get to her feet, swallows, and nods.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Rich watches the Doctor give River the shot of whatever the mix is, after checking to make sure that it won't interact with what Simon gave her. The tall pale man then removed his jacket, which was covered with blue slop, cleaned the crook of his own elbow and took his own shot without a flinch. Then the ex-ranger got his very own poke in the arm. It wasn't too bad, really. He felt fine but there was no point in arguing about it. Simon returned with supplies to clean River up, looking well scrubbed and dressed in nicely tailored clothes. The Doctor doesn't give the lad time to protest, catching his arm after he's set the sponge bathing supplies down, and sticking him with the needle. "What was that?" Simon asks as he holds a gauze over the tiny wound.

"Preventive measure, in your case. It won't harm you."

Simon fixes the alien a look that says, '_I'm a doctor_,' before replying, "For what?"

"Alien 'doomsday factor', Dr. Tam. Your sister was saturated with it. Inert until interaction with certain rare energies occurs. If you_ must_ know more I'll dig up the old military intelligence files and teach you the language they are in, all right?" The Doctor is busy putting things away and ignoring the fact that he's made the lad speechless quite on purpose. "Now, I'll leave you to tend River, and get us off planet."

"Ugg, Doc?" Riddick finds both men looking at him. He smirks at the Tam lad; "Don't you think he needs a shower, Simon?"

The dark-headed young man looked their host over and nodded, "Talk about dripping blue goo everywhere. Yes. Drag him in to the showers and get him cleaned up."

With a huff, the Doctor moved out into the hall, his coat in one hand, "I can shower by myself, thank you." Or at least he can try to.

Rich grinned, "You heard the Doc. I'm going to make sure you are clean." Then he leans in and steers the man into the room, "Besides, you can barely stand upright."

They find that the TARDIS has altered the room to assist, making one of the showers a sit down type. The Time Lord manages to convince the other man that he can, in fact, get the sludge off himself. His jacket goes into a cubby in the wall that closes once the coat is inside so that the blue blood is removed from the leather without damaging it too much. The ship brings her Time Lord the outfit of faded jeans and a dark brown jumper he's requesting from his room and takes the stained one away. Riddick looks into the shower at the short hairs that have littered the bottom of it from the other man's vigorous washing. "Why is your hair falling out?"

There's a sigh, "Radiation."

"How are you functioning if you've been exposed to enough radiation to make you sick?"

The Doctor looks as Riddick, "Not human, remember? The main effects I'm suffering from are cosmetic." He retrieves his coat, turns and finds Riddick standing in front of him. "Something wrong, Richard?"

He pauses, trying to figure out the pulse of his compulsion so he can squish it. Baring that he reaches up and puts his hand on the baby smooth skin of the other man's face, making a gentle caress with his callused fingers. He's happy to find that the temperature is cool under his touch again, and he grins, "Nope, not a gorram thing wrong, Doctor. So, you gonna rescue us now?"

An echoing devil-may-care smile appeared on the Time Lord's face, "Yes. Yes, I think I am. Shall we see if the sun still exists out there past that big ol' ringed planet?"

The other survivors have sensed the change and are filling out into the hall as the two men come out of the shower. Richard and Jack look at each other, "Hey, kid. I think you can talk to me now."

"So, can you show me how to rig stuff to explode?" Jack asks

Carolyn tousles the boy's hair, "Jack!" Riddick and Johns share a look then both chuckle.

"I'm just jokin', honest."

Simon helps a drowsy but awake River into the hall too.

"This way, folks. Let's see what space looks like today." The lot of them followed the Doctor back into the control room and scatter around the pillars. Working his magic (and the fact that the TARDIS itself wants off this world, thank you very much), the Time Lord and machine move from dirt to space, just in time to see the three suns become visible over the view screen from a distance as the system moved like clockwork. And because they need it, the TARDIS erects a shield and opens the main door to let the starshine in, so the human survivors know they are safe and really alive.

Riddick looks at Imam, "Now there's something you might be interested in. That blob there," he points. Abu and Ali both look. "The bright one? That's the Helion Nebula."

"New Mecca," the dark-skinned man breathes as though it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Think a soul can get lost there, Father?" Riddick asks.

The man turns from the sight as the door closes, "I rather think it is a place where they are found, Mr. Riddick."

"Well then," says the Doctor, "To Helion Prime, then. Early 2518, I would think? Just to avoid all those questions that are bound to arise if you all get home too early." He hits a button and the TARDIS slips into the time vortex.


End file.
